i. 


gs  > 


V 


ETHICS 

DESCRIPTIVE  AND  EXPLANATORY 


-y^y^ 


ETHICS 


DESCRIPTIVE  AND  EXPLANATORY 


BT 

S.    E.   MEZES,   Ph.D. 

nu>R88oa  or  philosopht,  cnivbrsity  of  texas 


Nefa  gork 
THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

LONDON :  MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  Ltd. 
1901 

AU  right*  rttervtd 


coptbiobt,  1900, 
By  the  MACMILLAN  COMPAKT. 


J.  8.  Cnihing  k  Co.  —  Berwick  k  SbOOi 
Norwood  Mm*.  U.S.A. 


loll 
hi 


UNIVERSITY  OP  CALIFORNIA 
SANTA  BARBARA  COLLEGE  LIBRARY 


Co 

mr   HONOURED   FRIEND   AND   FIRST   TEACHER 
IN   PHILOSOPHY 

GEORGE  HOLMES  HOWISON 

S  dratrfullg  QrHuate  ti)is  ISoofc 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/ethicsdescriptivOOmezeiala 


PREFACE 

'  The  purpose  of  the  present  book  is  to  give  as  adequate, 
•critical,  and  methodical  an  account  as  possible  of  what 
morality  and  immorality  are.  Its  assumption  is,  that  the 
best  way  of  discovering  what  morality  and  immorality 
are  is  to  examine  the  examples  of  these  phenomena  that 
are  open  to  observation.  And,  of  course,  as  in  the  case 
of  other  phenomena  with  a  history,  the  evolution  of 
morality  will  be  studied,  not  only  because  it  is  interest- 
ing in  itself,  but  because  it  throws  light  on  the  nature 
of  morality,  just  as  knowledge  of  the  evolution  of  man 
has  thrown  much  light  on  the  nature  of  man. 

This  does  not  mean  that  moral  and  immoral  conduct 
will  be  examined  as  physical  phenomena.  A  theory  of 
Ethics  founded  on  the  observation  of  conduct  as  a  body 
of  merely  external  or  physical  facts  is  bound  to  be  inade- 
quate and  fallacious.  Nowhere  in  the  physical  aspect 
of  conduct  is  the  "  ought "  to  be  found,  and  the  moralists 
who  limit  their  examination  to  that  aspect  pass  falla- 
ciously at  some  point  from  the  "is"  to  the  "ought  to  be." 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  a  theory  of  Ethics  founded  on 
introspection  alone  is  sure  to  be  inadequate  and  unscien- 
tific. Inadequate,  because  there  are  many  more  moral 
phenomena  besides  those  that  appear  in  the  consciousness 
of  the  writer.  Unscientific,  because,  however  moral  the 
writer  and  however  true  his  ethical  views,  these  views, 
just  as  his  personal  opinions,  are  unproven. 

Of  course  there  are  no  moralists  who  limit  themselves 
strictly  either  to  introspection  or  to  the  physical  point  of 
view.      But  there  are  many  who  undertake  to  accept 

vii 


viii  PREFACE 

either  one  or  the  other  point  of  view,  and  many  who  are 
critical  and  methodical  from  one  point  of  view  and  un- 
critical and  unmethodical  from  the  other  point  of  view. 

But  morality  is  made  up  of  the  psycho-physical  phe- 
nomena of  conduct,  moral  and  immoral,  and  of  the  purely 
psychic  phenomena  of  conscience,  which  is  a  term  that 
designates  all  judgments  passed  on  and  attitudes  towards 
conduct.  Consequently,  introspection  and  the  other 
methods  of  Psychology,  together  with  the  methods  of 
Biology  and  of  the  natural  sciences  generally,  will  all  be 
used.  Any  method  in  fact  is  used  that  throws  light  on 
the  central  question  as  to  what  morality  is. 

This  book,  then,  is  an  attempt  to  construct  a  positive 
or  purely  scientific  theory  of  Ethics,  and  to  give  a  natural- 
istic account  of  all  the  aspects  of  morality  and  immorality, 
in  so  far,  of  course,  as  space  limitations  permit. 

But  while  undertaking  to  write  a  scientific  account  of 
Ethics,  I  do  not  undervalue  or  fail  to  realize  the  need  for 
a  metaphysic  of  Ethics.  The  question,  What  is  moral- 
ity? can,  I  believe,  be  answered  quite  as  scientifically 
as  the  question.  What  is  a  living  being?  and,  accord- 
ingly, a  scientific  answer  to  the  former  question  is  here  ta 
be  attempted.  But  there  is  another  question  which  reads, 
What  is  the  cosmic  significance  of  morality  ?  This  is  a 
profound  question,  at  once  interesting  and  important,  and 
much  more  than  science  unaided  can  establish  must  be 
known  before  it  can  be  fully  answered.  I  agree  with 
most  of  Mr.  Balfour's  conclusions  as  to  evolutionary 
Ethics  as  a  naturalistic  theory  in  his  Foundations  of 
Belief.  If  science  showed  that  morality  is  merely  a 
human  characteristic  that  enables  man  to  survive,  just 
as  protective  blotches  and  animal  appetites  similarly  aid 
their  possessors,  and  if  it  showed  that  man  himself  is 
merely  an  ephemeral  incident  in  the  everlasting  impact 
of  atoms  and  eddying  approach  and  crash  of  molar  masses, 
then  would  man,  and  morality  with  him,  be  shown  to  b© 


PREFACE  ix 

iosignificant  indeed  from  the  cosmic  point  of  view.  From 
that  point  of  view  morality  and  man  can  be  shown  to  be 
significant  only  if  spiritual  as  well  as  physical  facts  can 
be  brought  to  knowledge,  indeed,  only  if  the  universe 
can  be  shown  to  be  essentially  spiritual,  and  so  friendly 
to  and  appreciative  of  human  morality.  And  metaphysics 
alone  can  give  knowledge  of  facts  like  these.  By  all 
means  let  metaphysicians  put  forth  all  their  endeavours 
to  discover  the  cosmic  nature  and  role  of  morality. 

But,  in  the  interest  of  the  present  undertaking,  I  would 
urge  certain  considerations  upon  the  attention  of  meta- 
physical moralists :  (1)  No  attempt  is  here  made  to  pre- 
judge the  results  of  metaphysical  speculation.  It  is 
nowhere  stated  that  morality  is  "merely"  what  it,  as  a 
natural  phenomenon,  is  here  discovered  to  be.  State- 
ments are  made  as  to  what  morality  as  such  a  phenome- 
non is,  but  that  is  without  prejudice  to  whatever  other 
characteristics  it  may  turn  out  to  have  from  the  broader 
cosmic  point  of  view.  (2)  Since  metaphysicians  wish  to 
know  what  morality  is  as  a  cosmic  phenomenon,  they 
certainly  are  not  indifferent  to  knowledge  of  its  nature 
and  role  as  a  natural  phenomenon;  nature  is  part  of  the 
cosmos.  (3)  Is  it  not  natural  and  proper  to  study  mo- 
rality in  its  setting  as  one  of  the  comparatively  familiar 
and  accessible  facts  of  human  experience,  before  embark- 
ing upon  the  precarious  enterprise  of  discovering  its  cos- 
mic bearings  ?  Or  is  the  larger  enterprise  more  likely  to 
be  successful  if  the  smaller  is  neglected?  (4)  Finally, 
even  though  it  should  turn  out  that  man  is  utterly  insig- 
nificant from  the  cosmic  point  of  view,  is  not  mankind 
unavoidably  and  properly  interesting  from  the  human 
point  of  view,  and  is  not  the  significance  of  morality  for 
mankind  an  intrinsically  interesting  problem  ? 

These  remarks  are  addressed  to  metaphysical  moralists 
of  broad  outlook.  Metaphysical  moralists  work  their  own 
destruction,  when  they  assume  that  facts  lying  outside 


X  PREFACE 

their  consciousness  and  the  consciousness  of  their  con- 
temporaries may  supply  a  useful  foundation  for  scientific 
conclusions,  but  can  only  sully  the  purity  of  cosmic  con- 
clusions. 

In  carrying  out  the  undertaking  to  write  a  scientific 
account  of  morality,  it  has  been  necessary  to  gather  facts 
from  many  sciences.  Of  course,  no  little  familiarity  with 
a  science  is  requisite  if  its  facts  and  conclusions  are  to  be 
used  without  doing  violence  to  truth.  Without  knowl- 
edge of  substantially  the  whole  range  of  a  science,  that 
subconscious  background  that  guides  the  scientist  in  his 
own  department  is  lacking,  and  borrowed  materials  gath- 
ered here  and  there  are  sure  to  be  in  part  scientifically 
unsound.  For  errors  due  to  carelessness  I  ask  no  indul- 
gence, though  some  errors  will,  no  doubt,  be  found  that 
greater  care  would  have  corrected ;  but  for  errors  that 
are  unavoidable,  because  due  to  the  magnitude  of  the 
undertaking,  I  ask  the  reader's  patient  considerateness. 
If  the  general  plan  of  treatment  here  adopted  commends 
itself  to  the  competent,  I  shall  be  content  to  have  inci- 
dental errors  corrected  in  due  time,  and  shall  be  indeed 
grateful  for  assistance  in  detecting  them. 

Especially  doubtful  am  I  of  the  statements  set  down  in 
Chapter  XIII  on  justice.  To  learn  all  the  principles  of 
the  common  law  or  of  the  civil  law  is  no  small  task.  But 
to  know,  without  serious  error,  the  leading  principles 
of  both  systems,  even  to  the  limited  extent  required  for 
writing  the  chapter  mentioned,  is  an  all  but  impossible 
achievement.  The  teaching  of  law  and  writing  of  legal 
text-books  are  eminently  practical  undertakings,  and  both 
professors  of  law  and  jurists  confine  their  attention  almost 
entirely  to  the  system  that  prevails  in  their  own  juris- 
dictions, and  besides  teach  and  write  for  the  practising 
lawyer,  barely  dropping  crumbs  of  information  now  and 
again  to  the  theoretical  inquirer.  This  practice  puts  upon 
an  ethical  writer,  inexpert  in  legal  lore,  a  task  too  heavy 


PREFACE  Xi 

for  his  unaided  powers.  Had  my  confidence  in  the  wis- 
dom of  basing  the  account  of  moral  justice  on  the  uni- 
versal principles  of  legal  justice,  as  gathered  from  a 
comparative  study  of  the  different  legal  systems,  been 
less  strong,  I  should  many  times  have  given  up  the  whole 
undertaking  in  despair.  As  it  is  I  publish  the  chapter 
with  the  hope  that  its  crudities  and  other  blemishes  will 
be  looked  on  with  charity,  and  that  aid  will  be  given  in 
eliminating  them  on  some  future  occasion. 

The  incompleteness  of  some  discussions  and  the  errors 
to  be  found  in  the  following  pages  will,  I  hope,  be  less 
out  of  place  in  a  modest  text-book.  Surely  it  is  less  im- 
portant to  hand  truth  over  to  college  and  university  stu- 
dents in  neatly  bound  and  labelled  packages,  than  to  lead 
them  to  witness  and  take  part  in  the  making  of  science. 
They  can  supplement  incomplete  discussions,  e.g.  in  Chap- 
ters VII-XVI,  and  errors  they  can  aid  in  correcting. 
Much  work  must  be  done  before  science  can  accumulate 
secure  knowledge  of  the  origin  of  conscience  in  the  race, 
and  of  the  true  nature  of  temperance,  of  benevolence,  of 
justice,  of  welfare,  etc.,  and  there  are  few  fields  to  which 
the  attention  of  students  could  be  more  profitably  directed. 

It  should  be  said  that  the  dogmatic  form  of  treatment, 
which  is  the  traditional  garb  of  the  text-book,  has  been 
adhered  to  as  much  as  possible.  But  when  the  conclu- 
sions reached  were  hitherto  unknown  to  Ethics,  and  there- 
fore without  support  from  ethical  authorities,  conscience 
at  times  rebelled  against  a  tone  too  fully  assured. 

Owing  to  my  distance  from  the  intellectual  centres  and 
from  library  facilities,  less  assistance  than  I  could  have 
wished  has  been  enjoyed.  It  would  be  impossible  to 
enumerate  the  authorities,  in  ethical  and  other  fields,  in 
whose  debt  I  stand,  though  footnotes  and  quotations  are 
always  eloquent  witnesses.  I  cannot  forbear  mention, 
however,  of  Aristotle,  Kant,  Darwin,  Clifford,  and  Sidg- 
wick.     To  Professor  Palmer,  of  Harvard,  my  gratitude  is 


xii  PREFACE 

due,  alike  for  his  lucid  instruction  and  his  inspiration  to 
me  when  a  graduate  student,  and  for  his  friendly  interest 
and  illuminating  suggestions  in  more  recent  years.  Among 
my  colleagues  of  the  University  of  Texas  I  should  mention 
John  C.  Townes,  Professor  of  Law,  David  F.  Houston,  Pro- 
fessor of  Political  Science,  and  F.  W.  Simonds,  Professor 
of  Geology,  as  having  aided  in  keeping  me  straight. 
Judge  Townes's  task  was  a  difficult  one,  and  his  efforts 
are  worthy  of  all  praise.  Nor  may  I  forget  the  students 
of  the  University  of  Texas  who  listened  to  my  lectures 
on  Ethics,  and  gave,  consciously  and  unconsciously,  many 
helpful  criticisms.  The  lecture  notes  of  Miss  Mary 
Heard,  Tutor  in  English,  Miss  A.  P.  F.  Hubbard,  Fellow 
in  Spanish,  and  Mr.  Thomas  Fletcher,  Student  Assistant 
in  Psychology,  were  kindly  put  at  my  disposal,  and  have 
aided  me  not  a  little. 

AuBTXN,  November  5,  1900. 


CONTENTS 

INTKODUCTION 

CHAPTER  I 

Dkfinitiom,  Scope,  and  Methods 

PAsa 

§  1.  Definition 1 

The  Problem 1 

Definition 6 

§  2.   Ethics  as  a  Normative  Science 6 

§  3.  Ethics  as  a  Teleological  Science 8 

§  4.   Necessity  for  understanding  Scope  and  Methods          .        .  9 

§  5.   The  Scope  of  Ethics 10 

§6.  The  Methods  of  Ethics 14 

CHAPTER  n 

Moral  and  Non-moral  Phenomena 

The  Test 18 

§  1.   The  Bulk  of  Non-moral  Phenomena 18 

§  2.   Men  as  Moral  Phenomena 19 

§  8.   Emotional  and  Intellectual  States  and  Fixed  Habits  not 

Moral  Phenomena 25 

§  4.   Not  All  Voluntary  Actions  morally  judged           ...  28 

$  5.   What  Part  of  Voluntary  Actions  are  Moral  Phenomena      .  29 

Table :  Consequences  of  Voluntary  Actions       ...  30 

Punishment,  Reformation,  Protection,  and  Reparation     .  31 

Reformation,  Protection,  and  Reparation  ....  32 

Reparation  and  Protection  :  No  Responsibility          .        .  84 

§  0.   Actions  and  Agents 35 

Terminology 87 

ziU 


3QV  CONTENTS 


PART  I 

SUBJECTIVE  MORALITY  AND  THE  INDIVIDUAL 
CONSCIENCE 

CHAPTER  III 

Subjective  Morality 


§  1.   Perceptional  Intuitionism 
§  2.   Plausibility  of  Perceptional  Intuitionism 
§  3.   Errors  of  Perceptional  Intuitionism 
§  4.   The  Truth  of  Perceptional  Intuitionism 
§  5.   Subjective  Morality        .... 
The  Term  "  Conscience  "    . 


PAOB 

41 
42 
44 
46 
50 
55 


CHAPTER  rV 
Voluntary  Action 

1.  The  Dynamic  Law 56 

2.  Man's  Lower  Activities 57 

Automatic  and  Reflex  Actions 57 

Ideo-motor  Actions 57 

Deliberation .58 

3.  Voluntary  Action 59 

4.  Motor  Efficiency  of  Sensational  Components        ...  60 

Effort 61 

The  Bodily  Self 62 

5.  Ends  of  Action  and  Interests 64 

Interest  in  Self 66 

Interest  in  Other  Persons 66 

Quasi-persons  and  Interest  in  them 68 

6.  Summary 72 

CHAPTER  V 
The  Adult  Conscience 

1.  Introductory 74 

2.  Conscience  as  Feeling 75 

Responsibility,  Obligation,  and  Free  Performance    .        .  76 

Approval  and  Disapproval 78 

Less  Important  Moral  Emotions 80 


CONTENTS  XV 

FAttB 

§  3.  Conscience  as  Intellect 81 

Moral  Categories 81 

Moral  Judgment  and  Reason 85 

§  4.   The  Moral  Ideal 86 

tSchematic  Character 86 

Ideas  of  Agents 88 

Organic  Character 88 


CHAPTER  VI 

The  Psychic  Cause  of  Conscience 

§  1.  Voluntary  Action  as  Cause 91 

§  2.   Voluntary  Actions  that  do  not  arouse  Conscience        .        .  93 

Caprice 93 

Preference 94 

Prudence 94 

§  3.   Conduct  the  Cause  of  Conscience 95 

§  4.   Self-respect  and  Respect  for  Calling 98 

§  5.  Applications  of  the  Theory 102 

CHAPTER  Vn 

Birth  and  Growth  of  Conscience  in  the  Child 

§  1.   The  Problem  stated 106 

§  2.   The  Origin  of  Agency 108 

The  Three  Stages 109 

The  Projective  Stage 109 

The  Subjective  Stage Ill 

The  Ejective  Stage 112 

The  Various  Agents 113 

The  Aggressive  and  the  Submissive  Selves    .        .        .114 

The  Social  Self 117 

§  3.  Birth  of  the  Moral  Agent 118 

Obedience 119 

Imitation 120 

§  4.   The  Effect  of  Temperament  on  Conscience  ....  124 

§  5.   The  Development  of  Conscience 125 

S  6.   The  Authority  of  Conscience        .        .    •    .        .        .        .  130 


XVI  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  VIII 
Birth  and  Growth  of  Conscience  in  the  Race 

PAOS 

§  1.  The  Problem 134 

Earliest  Man 134 

Method  of  Approach 137 

§  2.   The  Essential  Difference  between  Man  and  Other  Animals  138 

Mental  Differences 138 

Speech 139 

Judgment 140 

Self-consciousness 141 

Voluntary  Action 142 

Effort 144 

Physical  Differences 145 

Erectness  and  the  Seat  of  Effort 146 

§  3.  Effects  of  the  Rise  of  Volition 149 

Effects  on  the  Individual 150 

Biological  Importance  of  Association          ....  153 

Social  Dangers  due  to  the  Rise  of  Volition        .        .        .  155 

§  4.   Social  Counterchecks  on  Volition 157 

Instinctive  Opponents  of  Volition 158 

Intelligent  Control  of  Volition 159 

Control  by  Public  Opinion 159 

Rise  of  Conscience 163 

Public  Opinion  and  Conscience 164 

§  5.   The  Development  of  Group  Consciences       ....  168 
Interplay  of  Voluntary  Action  and  Conscience .        .        .169 

Effective  Will 170 

Stagnant  Consciences 170 

Radical  Consciences 171 

Perverted  Consciences 173 

Social  Vitality 174 

Individual  Welfare 177 

Social  Welfare 180 

Human  and  Sentient  Welfare 182 

§  6.   Summary 183 


CONTENTS  xvii 

PART  II 

OBJECTIVE  MORALITY 

CHAPTER  IX 

The  Constituents  and  Criteria  of  Objective 
Morality 

PASS 

■§  1.  Introduction 187 

^  2.   The  Ultimate  Purpose  in  Moral  Action        ....  188 

Normative  Consciences 188 

Teleological  Consciences 189 

The  Wisest  and  Most  Reasonable  Ultimate  End       .        .  193 

Sentient  Welfare 195 

§  3.   The  Criteria  of  Objective  Morality 197 

Serviceable  Consciences 198 

Trustworthy  and  Untrustworthy  Elements  of  Conscience  198 

§4.  The  Cardinal  Virtues 201 

CHAPTER  X 

Courage 

§  1.   Three  Conceptions  of  Courage 206 

§  2.   Sketch  of  the  Development  of  Courage  and  of  its  Conception  208 

Physical  Courage 208 

Self-possession 212 

Other  Forms  of  Courage 213 

i  3.  Moral  Courage .        .        .216 

Subjectively  Moral  Courage 217 

Courage  as  a  Virtue 218 

CHAPTER  XI 

Temperance 

§  1.   Introduction 221 

§  2.  The  Struggle  for  and  against  the  Appetites         .        .        .  222 

The  Strength  of  the  Appetites 222 

Forces  that  favour  the  Food  and  Drink  Appetites     .        .  226 
Forces   that  favour   Control   of    the   Food    and    Drink 

Appetites 230 

Regulation  of  the  Reproductive  Appetite  ....  238 


xviii  CONTENTS 

1>A0K 

§  3.  The  Virtue  of  Temperance 241 

Objective  Rules 241 

Further  Procedure 24;i 

Monogamy 244 

§  4.   Description  of  Monogamy 247 

Regulations  governing  the  Unmarried        ....  248 

Chastity 248 

Congeniality 24J) 

Suitability 252 

Romantic  Love 254 

Regulations  governing  the  Married 256- 

§  5.   Temperate  Eating 261 

§  6.   Temperate  Drinking 262 

§  7.  Temperance  in  General 264 

CHAPTER  XII 

Benevolence 

§  1.  Introduction 266- 

§  2.  Hostile  Feeling 268- 

Hostility  to  External  Public  Enemies        ....  268 

Hostility  to  Internal  Public  Enemies          ....  278' 

Hostility  to  Private  Enemies 284 

§  3.   Friendly  Feeling 286 

The  Broadening  of  Friendly  Feeling          ....  287 

Table :  Increase  in  Size  of  Sovereign  Societies  .        .        .  28ft 

Loyalty  to  Organizations 291 

§  4.   The  Benevolent  Individual 2&4 

Special  Good-will 295 

Conditions  justifying  Special  Good-will      ....  297 

CHAPTER  XIU 

Justice 

§  1.  The  Problem 80? 

§  2.   Legal  Justice  as  the  Basis  for  a  Description  of  Moral  Justice  305 

General  Reasons  for  accepting  Legal  Justice  as  the  Basis  .  305 

The  Law  deals  with  Overt  Acts 309 

Merely  Legal  Rules  of  Action 311 

Moral  Justice  outside  the  Law 314 

Summary  and  Conclusion 824: 


CONTENTS  xix 

PAOV 

§  3.   Preliminary  Idea  of  Just  Conduct 826 

§  4.   Unjust  Injuries  to  Individuals 329 

"  Rights  "  in  General  and  "  Greneral  Exceptions  "      .        .  330 

Legitimate  Defence 331 

Official  Acts 332 

Leave  and  License 333 

Inevitable  Accident 834 

Exercise  of  Common  Rights 334 

Works  of  Necessity 335 

Wrongs 335 

Physical  Violence 335 

Mental  Injuries 336 

Coercion 337 

Wrongs  to  Property  Rights 340 

Relations  with  Other  Persons 341 

Deceit 343 

Reparation 344 

§  5.   Public  Wrongs 345 

Offences  against  Persons  and  Property  ....  845 

Offences  against  Society 345 

Offences  against  Government 346 

I  6.   Duties  arising  from  Agreements  and  Promises    .        .        .  346 

Agreements  as  the  Basis  of  Duties  of  Benefaction     .        .  347 

The  Characteristics  of  Genuine  Agreements      .        .        .  348 

Capacity 348 

Mutual  Understanding 349 

Implied  Consent 349 

Real  Consent 351 

Coercion 351 

Misrepresentation 352 

The  Obligations  imposed  by  Genuine  Agreements    .        .  854 

Illegal  and  Immoral  Object 354 

Impossibility  of  Performance 355 

Specific  Performance 356 

Duties  arising  from  Promises 357 

5  7.   Duties  arising  from  Personal  and  Other  Relations       .        .  858 

$  8.  Justice  to  the  Unjust 361 

Two  Systems  of  Criminal  Procedure 361 

The  Greater  Justice  of  the  Litigious  System     .        .        .  365 

Just  Treatment  of  Convicted  Criminals     ....  368 


XX  CONTENTS 

PAOV 

§  9.  Charity 370 

The  Justice  of  Charity 370 

Charity  and  Individual  Welfare         .        .        .        .  -     .  871 

Summary  of  the  Chapter 371 


CHAPTER  XIV 

Wisdom 

§  1.  Introduction 373 

§  2.   The  Wise  Man 374 

Comprehensiveness  and  Sagacity 375 

Caution  and  Decision 376 

Firmness  and  Reasonableness 377 

§  3.   Abstract  Wisdom  and  Embodied  Wisdom    ....  378 

The  Sciences  and  Applied  Sciences 379 

Experts 380 

Means  and  Ends 881 


CHAPTER  XV 
Welfare 

§  1.  Individual  Welfare 884 

Quantitative  Hedonism 384 

Hedonism 890 

Perfectionism 393 

Eudemonism 396 

Table :  Components  of  Individual  Welfare        .        .        .  400 

Remarks  on  the  Table 401 

§  2.   National  Welfare 408 

Table  :  Components  of  National  Welfare  ....  407 

Remarks  on  the  Table 407 

The  Welfare  of  Animals 408 

§  3.  Human  and  Sentient  Welfare 408 


CONTENTS  Xxi 

CONCLUSION 

CHAPTER  XVI 

The  Nature  and  Value  of  Morality 

PAOB 

§1.  What  Morality  is  .        .        . 413 

Ideal  Morality  or  Perfection 413 

Practical  Morality  or  Duty 415 

§2.  Why  enforce  Morality? 418 

Why  ought  Morality  to  be  enforced  on  Self  and  Others?  .  418 

What  Interest  have  Men  in  the  Morality  of  their  Fellows  ?  419 

What  Interest  has  Man  in  his  own  Morality?    .        .        .  420 

In  Perfectly  and  Imperfectly  Moral  Societies  ?       .        .  420 

Perfectly  and  Imperfectly  Moral  Men  ?  .        .        .        .  422 


INTRODUCTION 

CHAPTER   I 

Definition,  Scope,  and  Methods 

§  1.     Definition 

The  Problem.  —  Ethics  is  one  of  the  group  of  sciences, 
commonly  called  normative,  whose  first  business  is  defini- 
tion. Men  find  comparatively  little  difficulty  in  agreeing 
on  the  names  to  be  given  to  most  of  the  things  they  think 
and  talk  about;  but,  for  many  reasons,  it  is  both  difficult 
to  characterize  the  phenomena  investigated  by  the  norma- 
tive sciences  appropriately,  and  dangerous,  or  at  least 
very  ill-advised,  to  characterize  them  inappropriately. 

Even  ia  the  descriptive  sciences  great  care  is  needed 
in  order  to  describe  and  explain  the  objects  with  which 
they  deal,  especially  when  the  lower  subclasses  are 
concerned,  but  the  identification  and  classification  of 
the  objects  are  not  ordinarily  attended  with  the  most 
serious  difficulties.  Biologists  no  doubt  have  difficulty 
in  discovering  precisely  what  life  is,  and  in  properly 
characterizing  many  genera  and  species,  but  they  are  in 
little  danger  of  mistaking  living  beings  for  inorganic 
matter,  or  vice  versa,  or  of  mistaking  the  order  or  other 
important  subdivision  to  which  any  animal  or  plant 
belongs.  Psychologists  similarly  have  much  to  learn 
about  intellectual,  emotional,  and  volitional  states,  but 
they  seldom  confuse  them,  and  have  not  in  modern  times 

B  1 


2  ETHICS 

mistaken  material  bodies  for  them.  And  so  it  is  in 
Astronomy,  Physics,  Chemistry,  and  the  other  so-called 
descriptive  sciences. 

But  in  the  domain  of  the  normative  sciences  the  diffi- 
culty is  in  identifying  and  conceiving  the  phenomena  con- 
cerned, in  agreeing  as  to  what  they  are.  In  ^Esthetics 
men  are  far  from  agreeing  as  to  what  things  are  beautiful 
and  what  things  are  ugly,  and  so  it  is  with  the  subclasses 
of  beautiful  and  ugly  things.  Indeed,  the  proverb  handed 
down  from  Roman  days  declares  that  there  is  no  disputing 
about  tastes,  it  being  held,  apparently,  that  there  is  no 
common  ground  of  agreement  on  which  to  found  discus- 
sion. And  in  Logic,  which  deals  with  truth  and  error, 
there  is  at  least  as  much  difficulty  in  classifying  opinions 
and  statements,  and  in  determining  the  test  they  must 
meet  in  order  to  be  classed  as  true.  As  is  instanced 
by  conflicting  theological  and  political  creeds,  and  other 
opinions  of  deep  concern,  the  notion  of  what  true  as 
distinguished  from  false  statements  are  is  so  vague  and 
unparticular  that  discussions  may  go  on  for  years,  or  even 
for  centuries,  without  bringing  men  into  agreement. 

And  in  Ethics  the  same  state  of  facts  obtains.  It  is 
of  common  knowledge  that  men  differ  endlessly  about  con- 
crete actions.  It  frequently  happens  that  actions  highly 
commended  by  some  men  are  severely  condemned  by 
others.  And  even  when  men  agree  in  regarding  particu- 
lar actions  as  right  or  wrong,  they  commonly  differ  in 
assessing  their  worth  or  iniquity,  as  the  case  may  be. 
And  theory  differs  nearly  as  much  as  practice.  Some 
men  hold  to  theological  views  on  morality,  believing  that 
to  be  right  that  God,  or,  it  may  be,  the  Church,  commands, 
while  others  are  intuitionists,  or  perfectionists,  or  hedo- 
nists, or  eudemonist»,  and  for  each  of  these  views  there 
are  several  interpretations.  The  difficulty  evidently  is 
that  men  do  not  possess,  or  at  least  have  not  discovered, 
any  common  ground  of  agreement  as  to  what  right  and 


DEFINITION,  SCOPE,  AND   METHODS  8 

wrong,  morality  and  immorality,  respectively  are,  and 
certainly  that  their  ideag  of  the  two  are  not  sufl&ciently 
particular  and  concrete  to  allow  them  to  decide  in  which 
of  the  two  classes  many  actions  belong. 

The  main  causes  of  this  confusion  within  the  normative 
sciences  are  not  difficult  to  discover,  and  once  discovered 
they  will  be  less  difficult  to  remedy.  In  the  first  place,  the 
phenomena  dealt  with  by  each  of  them  belong  in  two 
main  classes,  —  beautiful  and  ugly  objects,  true  and  false 
statements,  moral  and  immoral  actions,  —  two  classes  all 
but  indiscernibly  similar  in  their  salient  features,  but  differ- 
ing 80  widely  in  their  value  for  men  that  the  first  contains 
all  that  is  of  delight,  of  service,  and  of  good  report,  while 
the  second  contains  the  opposites  of  these.  It  is  as  if  men 
were  all  born  as  twins,  one  of  each  pair  a  criminal,  the 
other  a  benefactor  of  his  kind.  It  is  difficult  to  find  the 
hidden  characteristics  responsible  for  so  extreme  a  differ- 
ence, but  every  advance  of  a  normative  science  puts  stripes, 
as  it  were,  on  a  criminal  twin,  or  insignia  of  respect  on  a 
benefactor,  so  they  may  be  distinguished  and  treated 
appropriately.  In  the  descriptive  sciences  there  is  of 
course  no  such  division  of  subject-matter  into  two  practi- 
cally opposed  classes. 

The  second  cause  of  confusion  in  the  normative  sciences 
is  largely  a  consequence  of  the  first.  Owing  to  the  pre- 
eminently practical  basis  of  the  distinction,  phenomena  in 
each  of  the  two  main  subdivisions  make  distinctive  and 
opposite  appeals  to  the  whole  man  in  his  concrete  indi- 
viduality, not  merely  to  the  man's  reason  or  intellect.  A 
wholly  unpractical  and  unfeeling  mind,  if  such  a  thing 
existed,  would  be  competent  to  decide  whether  two  and 
two  make  four  or  some  other  number,  and  whether  a 
whale  is  a  fish  or  a  mammal.  But  the  whole  man,  with 
all  his  peculiarities  upon  his  head,  decides  whether  it  is 
right  or  wrong  to  free  the  slave,  to  disestablish  the  Church, 
or  to  intervene  in  behalf  of  the  oppressed  Cubans.     To 


4  ETHICS 

change  his  ethical,  sesthetic,  or  even  his  logical  opinions 
in  concrete  matters,  a  man  must  change  his  nature  ;  to 
change  his  opinions  in  Physics,  Chemistry,  or  any  other 
descriptive  science,  it  is  merely  necessary  to  change  his 
mind.  And  of  course  the  intellect  may  be  regarded  as 
uniform  from  man  to  man  as  compared  with  the  feelings 
and  the  will,  though  the  latter  are  much  more  funda- 
mental for  character.  And  besides,  the  question  is  not 
as  to  the  relative  amount  of  mental  as  compared  with 
other  differences  among  men,  but  as  to  mental  charac- 
teristics compared  with  all  characteristics,  intellectual, 
emotional,  and  volitional.  Mental  differences,  almost 
exclusively,  determine  different  opinions  in  the  descrip- 
tive sciences.  Practically  all  individual  qualities  have 
a  part  in  determining  differences  of  opinion  in  the  nor- 
mative sciences.  It  is  but  natural  then  that,  in  these 
latter,  disagreements  should  be  at  once  more  numerous 
and  more  obstinate  ;  and  equally  natural  that  definitions, 
which  all  but  form  themselves  in  the  descriptive  sciences, 
should  have  to  be  deliberately  and  very  carefully  framed 
in  the  less  fortunate  normative  sciences.  Other  less  im- 
portant causes  contributing  to  the  effect  under  considera- 
tion will  appear  as  the  discussion  proceeds. 

And  further  there  is  every  reason  for  taking  pains  to 
understand  beauty,  truth,  and  morality.  Every  name  is 
either  warning  or  advice.  But  a  normative  name,  if 
the  expression  be  allowed,  is  an  all  but  imperative  com- 
mand. When  the  word  "  Wolf  I  "  is  uttered,  a  wide  range 
of  conduct  is  suggested,  differing  for  the  hunter,  the 
shepherd,  the  lonely  traveller,  etc.  And  similarly  all 
names  are  packed  tight  with  suggestions  for  action.  But 
descriptive  names  only  give  advice,  which  each  may 
follow  as  seems  best  to  him;  while  normative  names  issue 
a  call  to  which  all  are  in  duty  bound  to  respond  appro- 
priately. "  Wolf  I "  means  "Look  out  for  yourself"; 
"  Stop  thief  I  "  means  "  Join  in  the  hue  and  cry,  and  assist 


DEFINITION,  SCOPE,  AND  METHODS  6 

in  the  capture."  The  same  fact  is  evidenced  by  the  dif- 
ferent ways  in  which  men  respond  to  descriptions  and  to 
estimates,  which  are  normative  judgments.  When  they 
are  described  inaccurately,  they  correct  the  mistake. 
When  they  are  estimated  unjustly,  they  resent  the  estimate. 
Every  one  knows  that  the  benefit  or  injury  a  description 
can  do  him  is  of  quite  a  different  order  from  the  benefit 
or  injury  done  him  by  an  estimate.  Descriptions,  it  may 
be  said,  deal  with  accidents;  estimates  deal  with  essentials. 
Or,  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  suggestions  a  character- 
ization gives  others,  a  description  suggests  details  of 
conduct  towards  the  object  in  question;  but  a  normative 
estimate  either  starts  a  man  in  the  right  direction,  so  he 
may  properly  adjust  the  details  of  his  conduct  to  the  object 
as  he  advances,  or  it  starts  him  wandering  in  the  wrong 
direction,  subject  to  the  danger  of  never  finding  his 
proper  position  with  respect  to  the  object.  For  funda- 
mentally the  world  is  divided  into  the  things  that  are 
profitable,  and  good  to  deal  with,  and  the  things  that  are 
unprofitable,  and  to  be  dealt  with  under  due  precaution, 
or,  it  may  be,  not  at  all.  And  the  normative  sciences 
seek  to  save  men  from  confusing  either  with  the  other  by 
discovering  and  pointing  out  unmistakable  characteristics 
of  each. 

Little  more  need  be  said  to  explain  the  definition  here 
proposed  for  Ethics.  Of  the  phenonema  subdivided  into 
two  opposed  halves,  a  very  important  class  consists  of 
what  are  variously  designated  good  and  bad,  right  and 
wrong,  moral  and  immoral,  etc.  For  the  reasons  dis- 
cussed above,  it  is  far  from  easy  to  know  in  many  cases 
whether  a  man  or  an  action  is  moral  or  immoral,  and 
besides  very  important  that  no  mistake  should  be  made; 
for  calling  a  man  moral  is  but  another  way  of  saying  that 
he  is  of  the  kind  all  agree  to  help,  while  calling  him  im- 
moral similarly  means  that  he  is  to  be  thwarted.  The 
first  task  of  Ethics  accordingly  is  to  define  what  is  meant 


6  ETHICS 

by  morality  and  immorality,  and  what  by  their  main  sub- 
divisions. But  of  course  no  one  would  be  satisfied  with 
definitions;  they  merely  constitute  the  first  step,  made 
necessary  by  the  great  confusion.  We  want  in  addition 
to  know  as  much  as  possible  about  the  phenomena  to  be 
investigated.  As  in  all  other  sciences,  the  phenomena 
under  investigation,  here  morality  and  immorality,  must 
be  adequately  described,  and,  as  far  as  possible,  explained. 
Description  and  explanation  are  unusually  difficult  in  so 
intricate  a  subject,  and  they  cannot  be  carried  far  within 
the  limits  of  the  present  book ;  but  they  are  not  only  a  legiti- 
mate, but  an  essential  part  of  any  complete  Ethics,  and  as 
such  cannot  be  excluded  from  the  definition  that  follows. 
Definition.  —  Ethics  is  the  science  that  first  defines,  and 
afterwards  describes  and  explains,  morality  and  immo- 
rality, and  their  subdivisions. 

§  2.     Ethics  as  a  Normative  Science 

Ethics  has  been  called  a  normative  as  distinguished 
from  a  descriptive  science.  And  while  the  introductory 
discussion  has  given  some  idea  of  what  the  two  types  of 
science  are,  as  well  as  of  the  distinction  between  them, 
misconception  as  to  the  nature  of  normative  sciences  is  so 
easy  and  has  done  so  much  to  obscure  the  true  role  and 
purpose  of  Ethics  that  some  additional  words  of  explana- 
tion are  necessary.  As  has  already  been  shown,  a  norma- 
I  tive  science  is  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  science  whose 
first  business  consists  in  defining  a  pair  of  important 
terms  difficult  to  distinguish  from  each  other.  After  this 
is  accomplished  it  describes  and  explains  its  phenomena 
just  as  any  descriptive  science  does.  Ethics,  for  instance, 
on  the  basis  of  appropriate  investigations,  tells  what  moral 
as  distinguished  from  immoral  conduct  really  is.  And 
while  this  seems  plain  enough,  being  merely  the  framing 
of  definitions,  the  nature  of  the  things  defined  by  the 
normative  sciences  easily  leads  to  confusion.     For  in  dis- 


DEFINITION.  SCOPE,  AND  METHODS  7 

covering  what  is  really  meant  by  moral  conduct,  Ethics 
discovers  a  fact  of  a  peculiar  kind :  not  so  much  a  type 
of  conduct  actually  performed,  —  for  probably  no  human 
conduct  is  fully  moral,  —  but  rather  a  norm,  a  standard, 
an  ideal  type  of  conduct,  actually  so  conceived  by  men. 
And  it  is  very  easy  for  the  ethical  writers  who  discover 
this  norm  or  standard,  to  think  that  they  establish  it,  and 
to  feel  called  upon  to  urge  others  to  live  up  to  it.  But,  of 
course,  both  the  supposed  achievement  and  the  supposed 
duty  are  fictions,  and,  moreover,  fictions  that  have  in  no 
small  degree  retarded  the  advance  of  Ethics.  In  fact 
ethical  writers  do  not  in  any  proper  sense  judge  conduct 
or  issue  pronouncements  as  to  what  is  right  or  wrong. 
Their  more  modest  task  is  to  discover  and  record  men's 
genuine  judgments  as  to  what  is  right  and  wrong,  or  in 
other  words  to  discover  what  men  really  mean  by  right 
and  wrong.  From  the  fact  that  Ethics  investigates  moral 
judgments  to  draw  the  conclusion  that  it  passes  moral 
judgments  is  as  illogical  as  to  infer  that  the  courts  do 
wrong  from  the  fact  that  they  pass  sentence  upon  wrong- 
doers. In  fact  the  private  judgment  as  to  right  and 
wrong  of  ethical  investigators  is  no  more  competent  —  in 
some  respects  is  less  competent,  as  will  appear  presently — 
than  the  private  judgment  of  others.  Indeed,  the  most 
difficult  task  of  Ethics  is  to  eliminate  the  personal  equa- 
tion, in  this  field  peculiarly  dangerous,  by  discovering 
some  method  that  will  lead  to  objective  truth.  Failing 
this,  prejudice,  personal,  local,  class,  and  racial,  will  be  set 
up  in  place  of  fact.  In  an  ethical  treatise  all  statements 
of  what  is  right,  as  distinguished  from  statements  of  what 
men  hold  to  be  right,  are  open  to  distrust. 

And  as  to  the  second  confusion :  profoundly  serviceable 
as  moral  suasion  by  projjer  persons  and  on  proper  occa- 
sions undoubtedly  is,  it  needs  no  argument  to  show  that 
Ethics  has  no  call  to  persuade  men  to  morality.  An 
effective    preacher    must    devoutly  believe   that  certain 


8  ETHICS 

courses  of  conduct  are  right  and  others  wrong.  An  un- 
biassed investigator  must  be  ready  to  examine  impartially 
any  course  of  conduct  in  order  to  discover  whether  it  in 
fact  belongs  to  the  type  that  men  agree  in  considering 
right  or  to  the  type  that  they  consider  wrong.  The  two 
temperaments  are  fundamentally  different ;  a  good  inves- 
tigator is  a  poor  preacher,  and  vice  versa. 

§  3.     Ethics  as  a  Teleological  Science 

Ethics  is  often  called  a  teleological  science,  and  it  may 
be  well  to  examine  briefly  into  the  propriety  of  the  desig- 
nation. To  call  a  science  teleological  is  the  same  as  to 
call  it  normative,  only  with  further  specification  of  the 
terms  in  which  the  normative,  typical,  or  standard  phe- 
nomena are  to  be  described.  As  a  normative  science. 
Ethics  is  merely  called  upon  to  describe,  in  any  terms 
that  may  turn  out  to  be  appropriate,  the  standard  actions 
that  deserve  to  be  called  moral.  When  Ethics  is  desig- 
nated a  teleological  science,  it  is  further  assumed  that  it  is 
bound  to  describe  moral  actions  in  terms  of  the  result  or 
end  (Greek  reXo'i')  that  they  realize.  Thus  if  it  should 
turn  out  that  actions  are  moral  in  proportion  as  they 
result  in  what  may  roughly  be  called  good,  Ethics  would 
be  properly  designated  a  teleological  science.  But  if  it 
should  turn  out,  as  Kant  holds,  —  and  many  other  moral- 
ists essentially  agree  with  him,  —  that  nothing  is  good  or 
moral  except  a  good  will,  and  that  a  will  is  good,  "not 
because  of  what  it  performs  or  effects,  but  simply  in  itself 
and  by  itself,"  then  Ethics  would  be  inappropriately 
described  as  a  teleological  science.  In  a  word,  the  desig- 
nation "  teleological "  assumes  at  the  outset  that  one  of  the 
several  solutions  of  the  central  problem  of  Ethics  is  cor- 
rect, and  all  others  incorrect,  and  while  that  may  be  true 
—  indeed,  that  is  the  conclusion  to  which  the  present 
investigation  leads  —  none  the  less  such  an  assumption  is 
unwarranted  in  a  preliminary  characterization. 


DEFINITION,  SCOPE,  AND   METHODS  9 

§  4.     The  Necessity  for  understanding  the  Scope  and 
Methods  of  Ethics 

It  has  already  been  pointed  out  that  ethical  investiga- 
tions need  to  be  grounded  in  an  adequate  understanding 
of  the  scope  of  the  phenomena  to  be  considered,  and 
guided  by  a  method  well  devised  for  preventing  the 
strong  practical  interests  aroused  by  moral  questions 
from  prejudicing  the  fairness  of  the  conclusions  reached. 
In  fact  there  are  two  dangers  especially  threatening  to 
ethical  investigation,  familiarity  with  a  narrow  range  of 
moral  phenomena,  and  cherished  personal  principles  and 
practices. 

The  first  danger  threatens  all  social  sciences,  not  Ethics 
alone.  Economics,  for  instance,  deals  with  subjects  whose 
terminology  is  in  the  main  well  known  to  all,  and  limited 
portions  of  whose  facts  are  familiar  experiences  to  all 
men.  The  result  is,  that  economic  problems  inspire  no 
awe,  in  fact  do  not  even  seem  strange,  and  that  men 
find  it  difiicult  to  believe  that  it  takes  expert  knowledge 
and  a  large  accumulation  of  information  to  solve  them. 
An  ignorant  or  half-informed  man  trusts  his  judgment  as 
against  well-established  principles  of  science  to  an  extent 
that  would  be  impossible  in  mathematical  or  classical  sub- 
jects, and  that  though  economic  problems  are  in  no  sense 
less  intricate  or  difficult.  And,  similarly,  economists 
themselves  are  only  to  a  lesser  extent  likely  to  assume  that 
their  science  is  exclusively  deductive,  and  accordingly 
to  attempt  to  found  their  conclusions  on  a  narrow  and 
abstract  survey  of  the  facts,  rather  than  on  a  full  acquaint- 
ance with  them  in  all  their  concrete  spread. 

Much  the  same  can  be  repeated  of  Ethics.  Moral 
phenomena  meet  us  at  every  turn,  and  those  we  encoun- 
ter have  so  much  reality  for  us,  and  seem  so  well  known, 
even  to  triteness,  that  we  easily  persuade  ourselves  that 
with  careful  scrutiny  of  our  experience  we  can  penetrate 


10  ETHICS 

to  the  heart  of  the  moral  mystery.  As  well  expect  to 
build  up  Biology  upon  observations  limited  to  a  stock 
farm  and  a  poultry  yard.  Moral  phenomena  are  infinitely 
numerous,  various,  and  intricate,  and  unless  their  scope 
be  appreciated,  and  the  whole  body  of  phenomena  be 
present,  at  least  in  the  background  of  the  mind,  when 
conclusions  are  being  formed,  there  is  little  hope  for  an 
adequate  Ethics. 

The  second  danger  needs  no  further  insistence.  It 
may  be  that  persons  provoke  a  stronger  emotional  response, 
but  no  other  subject-matter  appeals  to  the  feelings,  and 
to  the  whole  nature,  as  morality  and  immorality  do.  An 
investigator  who  deals  with  the  subject  without  set  plan, 
proceeding  as  his  nature  may  direct,  is  sure  to  overempha- 
size some  facts,  and  to  neglect  or  even  omit  others  ;  his 
perspective  will  be  faulty  and  his  conclusions  unfair.  A 
method  is  for  a  scientist  what  his  plan  of  campaign  is  for 
a  general ;  it  allows  deliberate  and  far-seeing  moments 
to  guide  by  full  experience  the  intense  and  passionate 
moments  that  come  when  battle  is  joined. 

§  5.     The  Scope  of  Ethics 

Adopting,  as  usage  permits,  one  term  for  both  moral 
and  immoral  men  and  actions,  it  may  be  said  that  Ethics 
undertakes  to  investigate  moral  phenomena  throughout 
their  entire  range.  This  is  a  vast  subject-matter  ;  but 
by  proceeding  in  an  orderly  manner  it  will  not  be  difficult 
to  build  up  a  sufficient  conception  of  it  for  introductory 
purposes.  Beginning  with  the  morality  in  the  midst  of 
which  he  lives,  and  with  which  he  is  more  or  less  familiar, 
the  investigator  can  trace  out  the  phenomena  along  various 
lines.  His  set  or  social  class  has  a  partly  distinct  morality, 
but  there  are  other  classes  in  the  community,  and  he  must 
know  their  moral  principles  and  practices.  If  the  investi- 
gator happens  to  be  a  lawyer,  and  so  familiar  with  legal 
ethics,  he  must  remember  that  there  are  other  occupations, 


DEFINITION,  SCOPE,   AND   METHODS  11 

professions,  and  callings,  each  with  a  moral  outlook  of  its 
own.  The  many  religious  bodies  dififer  in  creed  and  in 
moral  perspective  if  not  in  doctrine,  and  these  differences 
are  proper  and  necessary  objects  of  investigation.  And 
€ach  locality  and  section  has  its  moral  provincialisms, 
while  broader  features  difference  the  moral  systems  of 
the  nations  from  one  another.  But  probably  the  investi- 
gator will  find  it  hardest  to  understand  the  morality  of 
other  races,  for  racial  differences  are  the  most  deep-going. 
There  are  many  moral  questions  on  which  the  Englishman 
and  the  Frenchman  will  long  disagree,  while  both  will 
probably  misinterpret  the  Japanese  and  the  Chinaman,  and 
all  but  wholly  fail  to  understand  the  Malay,  the  Negro, 
and  the  Hottentot.  Notwithstanding,  this  entire  body  of 
moral  phenomena  must  be  sufficiently  investigated  by  the 
ethical  student  to  save  his  theories  from  doing  violence  to 
any  fact  existing  there.  And  finally,  the  morality  of  the 
present  is  but  a  small  fraction  of  human  morality.  At 
least  from  the  dawn  of  human  life  morality  has  been 
making,  and  Ethics  is  very  earnestly  interested  in  prime- 
val, savage,  and  barbarous  morality  —  almost  as  much 
interested  in  them  as  in  civilized  morality  of  to-day.  Of 
course  only  very  few  of  the  facts  suggested  are  within  the 
present  compass  of  human  knowledge.  But  that  makes  it 
all  the  more  the  duty  of  Ethics  to  become  acquainted 
with  as  many  of  them  as  possible,  whether  by  means 
of  the  assistance  of  other  sciences,  or  by  means  of  its  own 
independent  investigations. 

Again,  the  task  of  Ethics  is  very  complicated  ;  its  scope 
is  extended  by  the  intricacy  of  the  phenomena,  by  the  mul- 
tiplicity of  details  present  in  each  phenomenon  concerned. 
First,  as  the  next  chapter  will  show,  only  voluntarily 
actions  are  moral  and  immoral,  and  they  of  course  are 
partly  psychic  and  partly  physical,  states  of  mind  followed 
by  bodily  movements.  And  further,  a  great  deal  must 
be  known  of  the  psychic  states  of  all  the  men  who,   as 


12  ETHICS 

■we  say,  "consider,"  "judge,"  "believe,"  or  " hold " actions 
to  be  right  and  wrong ;  in  more  usual  terms,  a  great  deal 
must  be  known  about  conscience.  Ethical  investigation 
cannot  proceed  very  far  without  knowing  what  conscience 
is,  for  the  nature  of  conscience  throws  much  light  on  the 
nature  of  the  actions  conscience  seeks  for  approval  and 
disapproval.  And,  besides  knowing  what  conscience  is» 
it  is  necessary  to  know  how  it  came  into  existence  in  the 
child  and  the  race,  and  especially,  so  far  as  possible,  what 
it  stands  for  and  aims  at.  These  last  problems,  though 
recent  and  considered  with  little  favour  by  some  writers  on 
the  subject,  are  of  very  serious  importance.  If  the  prob- 
lem were  to  find  what  Englishmen  stand  for  and  are 
chiefly  interested  in,  the  most  natural  recourse  would  be 
to  their  history,  to  discover  what  they  had  stood  for  and 
been  interested  in;  no  one  would  think  of  limiting  the 
inquiry  to  Englishmen  of  the  present  day,  their  surround- 
ings, training,  and  disposition.  And  yet  the  opinion  is 
strangely  prevalent  that  the  nature  and  aim  of  men  as 
moral  beings  can  best  be  discovered  by  confining  investi- 
gation to  present-day  and  civilized  moral  natures  or  con- 
sciences to  the  exclusion  of  any  consideration  of  consciences 
of  other  times  and  races.  Estimates  passed  upon  consciences 
are  indeed  of  slight  value,  for  Ethics  is  not  attempting 
to  make  moral  estimates,  but  to  discover  their  true  intent. 
But  all  scientific  information  about  conscience  and  its 
groping  attempts  to  find  what  it  seeks  is  of  the  utmost 
value.  The  problem  thus  includes  the  investigation  of  a 
group  of  widely  branching  physical  phenomena,  the  outer 
side  of  voluntary  actions,  and  of  two  groups  of  psychic 
phenomena,  the  inner  side  of  actions  and  conscience.  It 
is  interesting  to  note  that  some  writers,  including  most 
intuitionists,  have  all  but  entirely  neglected  the  physical 
problem,  while  others,  chiefly  evolutionists,  with  Mr.  Spen- 
cer at  their  head,  give  but  the  scantest  treatment  to  the 
psychic  problem. 


DEFINITION,  SCOPE.  AND  METHODS  13 

The  undertaking  thus  proposed  for  Ethics  is  large  and 
intricate,  so  much  so  that  there  may  be  some  hesitation 
in  regarding  it  as  within  the  compass  of  human  powers. 
In  history,  it  may  be  said,  there  are  large  gaps,  and  even 
where  its  information  is  fullest  little  is  known  of  the  life 
of  the  people  at  large,  scarcely  one  concrete  act.  Trav- 
ellers have  seen  something  of  uncivilized  peoples,  but 
they  have  not  lived  with  them  long  in  most  cases,  and  are 
generally  inexpert,  with  the  result  that  their  information 
is  superficial  and  untrustworthy.  And  as  to  prehistoric 
times,  the  sea  of  ignorance  is  barely  dotted  with  islets 
of  surmise.  Can  it  be  expected,  on  so  insecure  and 
limited  a  foundation,  to  erect  a  structure  of  knowledge 
that  has  any  chance  of  standing?  In  reply  it  may  be 
said  that  our  having  a  small  number  of  facts  would 
scarcely  justify  our  neglecting  some  of  them,  that  many 
more  difficult  problems  are  being  slowly  but  steadily 
solved,  and  that  many  other  sciences  are  from  this  point 
of  view  in  much  the  same  position.  Geology  can  observe 
only  an  insignificant  fraction  of  the  earth's  strata;  by  aid 
of  the  spectroscope,  astronomy  is  adding  item  by  item  to 
its  knowledge  of  the  chemical  elements  in  the  planets  and 
stars  ;  and  it  is  out  of  the  scantiest  material  that  philolo- 
gists have  built  up  their  knowledge  of  Sanskrit  and  of 
several  other  languages.  In  fact,  it  is  because  there  are 
great  gaps  in  our  knowledge  of  facts  that  sciences  arise 
to  bridge  them;  were  there  a  region  where  all  the  facts 
were  known,  all  science  could  be  there  dispensed  with. 
And  if,  as  is  no  doubt  true,  there  are  more  gaps  in  our 
knowledge  of  moral  phenomena  than  elsewhere,  that,  as 
has  been  suggested,  is  the  more  reason  for  discovering  and 
using  as  many  facts  as  possible,  and  for  being  especially 
cautious  and  methodical,  or  unprejudiced,  in  inferring 
from  known  to  unknown  facts. 


14  ETHICS 

§  6.     The  Methods  of  Ethics 

So  far  as  is  possible  Ethics  draws  on  other  sciences  for 
facts,  just  as  they  draw  on  one  another.  Jurisprudence 
probably  furnishes  more  valuable  facts  than  any  other 
science,  for  it  describes  the  actions  that  judges,  who  are 
generally  eminent  in  training,  ability,  and  knowledge, 
employ  the  power  of  the  state  to  punish,  repress,  and  dis- 
courage, and  also  the  rights  that  they  with  like  effective- 
ness protect.  History,  political,  social,  and  religious, 
furnishes  many  facts,  and  many  are  furnished,  to  mention 
only  the  more  helpful  allies,  by  Sociology,  Anthropology, 
Biology,  and  especially  by  Psychology,  descriptive,  morbid, 
genetic,  and  comparative. 

But  it  often  happens  that  other  sciences  fail  to  investi- 
gate the  facts  that  are  most  significant  for  Ethics,  and  then 
it  is  compelled  to  take  up  the  investigation,  making  use, 
of  course,  of  the  approved  method  in  each  case.  For 
instance,  with  all  the  activity  of  modern  psychologists, 
the  numerous  books  they  have  written  either  ignore  con- 
science or  give  it  but  scant  description,  and  even  voluntary 
action  they  fail  to  treat,  from  some  points  of  view  most 
interesting  to  ethical  students.  Ethics  must  fill  in  these 
and  other  gaps,  and  in  doing  so  must  use  the  methods, 
introspection,  experiment,  etc.,  employed  by  Psychology. 
And  what  is  true  of  Psychology  is  also  true  of  Jurispru- 
dence, Sociology,  and  History ;  and  if  it  is,  at  present,  less 
true  of  the  other  sciences  mentioned  above,  that  is  because 
Ethics  is  as  yet  scarcely  aware  of  the  magnitude  of  the 
task  undertaken.  In  short,  in  dealing  with  facts  of  each 
kind.  Ethics  must  use  the  methods  of  investigation  found 
effective  by  the  sciences  ordinarily  dealing  with  them,  and 
this  means  that  many  methods  must  be  used,  for  the  facts 
are  very  various. 

But  Ethics  is  interested  in  conclusions  as  much  as,  if 
not  more  than,  in  facts.     Indeed,  it  is  interested  in  facts 


DEFINITION,  SCOPE,  AND  METHODS  15 

with  a  view  to  the  conclusions  to  which  their  investiga- 
tion leads.  And  while  the  indicated  employment  of  the 
methods  of  the  other  sciences  will  result  in  the  discovery 
of  important  facts,  it  will  scarcely  of  itself  lead  to  the 
conclusions  sought.  The  problem  is  how  to  throw  light 
from  the  facts  suggested  on  to  the  nature  of  morality  and 
immorality  and  of  the  differences  between  them. 

This  problem  and  its  solution  will  be  made  clearer  by 
considering  how  the  interpretation  of  meaning,  how  defi- 
nition, is  accomplished  in  a  number  of  more  familiar  in- 
stances. If  a  living  author,  Bret  Harte  say,  coins  a  word 
or  uses  a  well-known  word  in  a  strange  sense,  his  mean- 
ing may  be  discovered  either  by  asking  him,  in  which 
case  he  either  may  or  may  not  be  willing  or  able  to  explain, 
or  it  may  be  discovered  by  a  careful  consideration  of  the 
word's  context  in  as  many  instances  as  possible.  But  in 
case  of  a  word  of  doubtful  meaning  used  by  an  author  no 
longer  living,  e.g.  Chaucer  or  Shakspere,  the  first  alter- 
native is  eliminated,  and  the  second  alone  remains.  De- 
pendence is  placed  on  studying  the  word  in  many  contexts, 
supplemented,  so  far  as  possible,  by  acquaintance  with 
contemporary  usage  similarly  ascertained.  This  second 
case  is  evidently  more  of  a  kind  with  the  situation  in 
Ethics ;  for  though  it  is  possible  to  ask  this  man  or  that 
what  he  means  by  morality  and  immorality,  his  answer 
would  have  no  scientific  value,  and  the  correct  answer 
must  be  discovered  by  seeking  the  meaning  of  the  words 
in  contexts  as  various  as  possible,  and  then  generalizing 
to  their  meaning  in  unexamined  contexts.  Again,  the 
problem  before  Ethics  is  not  unlike  that  presented  to 
the  decipherers  of  the  Egyptian  hieroglyphics.  Taking 
in  quite  concretely  the  situation  (context)  in  which  an 
action  considered  moral  (an  unknown  hieroglyph)  is 
found,  a  guess  at  its  essence  and  meaning  is  ventured. 
On  tliis  basis  other  instances  are  examined  in  their  set- 
tings and  the  guess  is  then  corrected  and  expanded  to 


16  ETHICS 

fit  them.  Finally,  when  an  interpretation  of  meaning  is 
wrought  out  that  fresh  instances  in  large  numbers  only 
continue  to  confirm,  it  is  accepted  as  correct  as  long  as 
confirmations  are  uninterrupted.  What  may  be  called  a 
method  of  inductive  approximations,  is  thus  one  of  the 
most  important  for  Ethics,  as  it  is  for  other  inquiries 
whose  chief  business  is  interpretation  of   meanings. 

A  couple  of  problems  even  more  similar  to  those  of 
Ethics  will  serve  to  make  the  method  clearer.  Either  be- 
cause of  death,  of  refusal,  or  of  personal  defect,  it  is  often 
impossible  to  ascertain  the  political  principles  of  public 
men,  of  congressmen,  for  instance,  from  their  own  state- 
ments. But  in  any  case,  where  these  principles  are  of 
interest,  this  far  from  bars  the  inquiry.  The  votes  of  the 
congressman  can  be  looked  up,  and  his  conduct  on  com- 
mittees and  the  character  and  trend  of  his  interests  and 
utterances  in  and  out  of  Congress  can  be  investigated,  with 
the  result  that,  after  a  sufficient  amount  of  careful  study, 
inferences  as  to  his  probable  course  on  occasions  not  yet 
investigated  will  be  justified  with  increasing  frequency 
by  the  facts.  What  he  stands  for  and  aims  at  will  thus 
be  more  or  less  accurately  and  adequately  discovered. 
Now  what  is  true  of  a  single  public  man  is  equally  true 
of  a  political  party.  Within  the  limits  allowed  by  changes 
of  leadership  and  of  circumstances,  and  by  the  imperfect 
organization  of  parties  as  compared  with  men,  the  prin- 
ciples of  a  party  can  be  discovered  by  skilful  inductions 
based  upon  the  investigation  of  the  votes  and  in  general 
the  political  conduct  of  the  members  of  the  party.  And 
what  is  true  of  the  political  principles  and  interests  of  a 
group  of  men  composing  a  party  is  true  of  the  moral 
principles  and  interests  of  all  men,  at  least  of  the  more 
fundamental  moral  principles.  In  so  far  as  there  is  a 
meaning  common  to  all  men  in  the  terms  "  moral "  and 
"  immoral "  and  their  translations,  one  means  of  finding 
this  is  the  method  of  inductive  approximations. 


DEFINITION,  SCOPE,  AND  METHODS  17 

But  still  another  method  is  open  to  Ethics,  what  is 
known  broadly  as  the  deductive  method,  which  consists 
in  using  recognized  and  established  principles  for  elucidat- 
ing the  facts  under  investigation.  Knowing  for  instance 
that  all  men  are  mortal,  and  knowing  that  Socrates  is  a 
man,  it  is  known  that  Socrates  is  mortal.  Knowing  that 
pure  oxygen  is  essential  for  preserving  life  in  animal 
tissues,  and  knowing  further  that  oxygen  does  not  exist 
pure,  it  is  known  that  animals  have  some  organ  for  separ- 
ating oxygen  out  of  the  mixtures  in  which  it  exists. 
And  similarly,  knowing  that  some  actions  are  preserva- 
tive of  life  and  promotive  of  strength  and  skill  in  satisfy- 
ing desires,  while  others  destroy  life  and  diminish  strength 
and  skill,  it  is  not  difficult  among  other  things  to  infer 
that  any  body  of  men  that  continues  alive  and  prosperous 
considers  moral  or  encourages  many  of  the  first,  and  con- 
siders immoral  or  discourages  many  of  the  second  class 
of  actions.  In  short,  men  are  not  only  moral  beings  but 
living  beings  in  an  environment  to  some  extent  investi- 
gated and  known,  and  from  the  known  "  laws  of  life  and 
conditions  of  existence,"  to  use  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer's 
phrase,  a  very  respectable  body  of  deductions  can  be 
reached  regarding  the  kind  of  actions  men,  so  long  as  they 
live  and  in  so  far  as  they  prosper,  must  consider  moral 
and  immoral 


CHAPTER  II 

Moral  and  Non-moral  Phenomena 

The  Test  — This  chapter  undertakes  to  distinguish  moral 
from  non-mo^al  phenomena.  Either  of  two  means  can  be 
adopted  to  accomplish  this  purpose.  The  views  of  those 
who  have  investigated  the  subject  may  be  gathered  and 
compared  in  order  to  discover  the  true  distinction.  Or, 
and  this  is  a  better  way,  the  phenomena  which  men  quite 
spontaneously  treat  as  moral  may  be  examined  and  com- 
pared with  those  not  so  treated.  All  phenomena  which 
arouse  moral  emotions,  or  on  which  moral  judgment  is 
passed,  or  which  are  either  rewarded  or  punished  with  a 
sense  that  that  is  their  desert,  are  moral  phenomena.  In 
a  word,  anything  for  which  a  man  is  held  responsible,  by 
himself  or  by  others,  is  thereby  regarded  as  a  moral  i^he- 
nomenon.  Immorality  for  obvious  reasons  furnishes  bet- 
ter examples,  and  most  of  those  considered  will  be  taken 
from  that  field  ;  and  commissions  for  similar  reasons  are 
more  convenient  for  citation  than  omissions.  But  it  is- 
only  for  the  strictly  limited  purposes  of  this  chapter  that 
the  neglect  to  mention  moral  actions  and  omissions  i» 
permissible.  In  a  descriptive  catalogue  of  moral  and  im- 
moral actions  they  would  occupy  a  large  place. 

§  1.     The  Bulk  of  Non-moral  Phenomena 

The  first  step  in  distinguishing  the  moral  from  the  non- 
moral  can  be  easily  taken.  In  spite  of  the  mighty  bene- 
fits and  injuries  it  inflicts,  the  universe  of  lifeless  things 
can  do  neither  right  nor  wrong.     Excessive  heat  and  cold, 

18 


MORAL  AND  NON-MORAL  PHENOMENA  19 

storms,  the  action  of  the  ocean,  of  earthquakes,  etc.,  are 
causes  of  an  appalling  aggregate  of  misery,  while  sun- 
sliine,  rain,  fertile  soil,  the  changes  of  the  seasons,  and 
other  inorganic  conditions  are  quite  indispensable  bene- 
factors. But  the  former  are  not  held  responsible  and  the 
latter  neither  arouse  gratitude  nor  receive  reward.  Inor- 
ganic matter  is  non-moral. 

Nor  is  there  any  more  hesitation  in  excluding  the 
vegetable  kingdom  from  among  moral  phenomena.  The 
plants  that  furnish  food  are  not  morally  good,  and  those 
that  poison  are  not  morally  evil. 

It  might  be  thought  that  with  consciousness,  capacity 
for  right  and  wrong  appears.  But  this  supposition  is 
negative  by  the  fact  that  all  or  nearly  all  the  lower  ani- 
mals are  conscious,  and  yet  are  not  looked  upon  as  mor- 
ally responsible.  The  first  difficulty  appears  when  the 
higher,  chiefly  the  domestic,  animals  are  considered.  The 
men  who  know  them  best  and  are  most  fond  of  them  not 
infrequently  maintain  that  domestic  animals,  or  some  of 
them,  are  capable  of  moral  and  immoral  actions.  While 
admitting  that  cats  in  general  are  non-moral,  the  late 
Professor  Clifford  humorously  insisted  that  his  pet  was 
an  exception.  The  question  need  not  be  discussed  here. 
On  the  considerations  which  properly  decide  whether  all 
men  are  fit  objects  of  moral  judgment,  is  based  the  answer 
in  this  case  also. 

§  2.     Men  as  Moral  Phenomena 

That  man,  endowed  with  knowledge  and  will,  is  held 
morally  responsible  is  not  denied.  It  is  certain,  however, 
that  some  human  beings,  at  least  in  some  actions  and 
in  certain  consequences  of  their  actions,  cannot  justly  be 
subjected  to  moral  judgments.  Nothing  that  infants  do 
is  so  judged  ;  and  as  children  grow  older  they  are  held 
responsible  only  in  proportion  to  the  development  of  their 
will  and  experience.     Idiots  and  imbeciles,  whatever  their 


20  ETHICS 

years,  are  classed  with  infants  in  this  respect ;  while 
those  in  whom  insanity  appears  in  less  complete  form  are 
only  in  some  of  their  actions  included  among  the  respon- 
sible members  of  the  community.  Roughly  speaking, 
such  irresponsible  members  fall  into  two  classes,  those 
deficient  in  intellect,  and  those  weak  in  will. 

No  difficulty  will  be  felt  with  regard  to  the  unfortu- 
nates who  are  mentally  deficient.  In  so  far  as  dementia 
prevents  an  individual  from  foreseeing  and  realizing  the 
consequences  of  his  actions,  or  leads  him  to  mistaken 
expectations,  it  is  plain  that  he  would  be  held  responsible 
by  no  one.  The  mentally  unsound  may  set  fire  to  inhab- 
ited buildings,  or  kill  with  firearms,  or  do  any  injury,  how- 
ever appalling,  and  they  will  not  be  punished  in  so  far 
as  they  did  not  know  what  they  were  about.  There  is 
no  little  difficulty  in  assessing  the  responsibility  in  pro- 
portion to  the  degree  of  foresight  that  exists  in  any  case, 
but  that  applies  to  the  sane  as  well  as  to  the  partially 
insane,  and  will  be  taken  up  later.  The  present  point  is, 
that  when  foresight  is  for  all  practical  purposes  entirely 
absent,  responsibility  does  not  exist. 

At  first  sight  it  may  not  appear  so  plain  that  respon- 
sibility is  diminished  by  weakness  of  will.  It  may  seem 
that  responsible  judgment  demands  of  a  man  that  his  will 
be  strong  enough  to  insure  the  performance  of  his  duty. 
But  without  denying  the  last  statement,  it  is  still  true 
that  sober-minded  judgment  assesses  responsibility  in  nice 
proportion  to  the  relative  strength  of  will  and  of  its  op- 
ponents in  each  case,  denying  responsibility  where  will 
has  no  strength  at  all.  The  strength  of  will  is  of  course 
relative,  and  the  examples  to  be  discussed  will  be  grouped 
under  two  heads,  instances  where  normally  strong  will  is 
opposed  by  other  forces  abnormally  strong,  and  instances 
where  the  opposing  forces  are  normal,  but  the  will  is 
abnormally  weak  or  wholly  absent. 

Physical  force  that  overpowers  the  will  entirely  does 


MORAL  AND  NON-MORAL  PHENOMENA  21 

away  with  responsibility.  A  man  exercising  due  care, 
who  is  thrown  from  his  horse,  is  not  held  responsible, 
though  in  his  fall  he  injure  a  passer-by.  In  this  and 
similar  cases  no  one  expects  the  will  to  be  strong  enough 
to  control  superior  power.  And  even  where  the  external 
agency  does  not  overpower  the  will,  allowance  is  made 
for  its  presence.  Coercion,  for  instance,  whether  exer- 
cised indirectly  on  the  will  through  the  emotions  or 
intellect,  or  exercised  directly  on  the  will  itself,  is  held 
to  diminish  responsibility.  Actions,  even  though  wrong, 
are  less  seriously  condemned  if  motived  by  great  fear, 
strong  love,  or  any  other  powerful  emotion.  And  when 
an  individual  does  harm  in  unavoidable  ignorance,  he  is 
not  blamed,  the  person  deceiving  him  being  alone  respon- 
sible if  the  ignorance  is  due  to  misinformation.  But 
coercion  may  also  be  exercised  directly  upon  the  will. 
Men  differ  in  impressiveness,  both  by  nature  and  by 
reason  of  the  social  office  they  fill,  and  an  impressive  per- 
son may  impose  upon  the  weaker  resolution  of  one  who 
naturally  defers  to  him.  In  this  case  the  responsibility 
of  the  latter  is  held  to  be  only  partial.  A  child  is  not 
wholly  responsible  for  wrong-doing  to  which  he  is  im- 
pelled by  his  parents.  A  servant  is  not  wholly  respon- 
sible for  the  results  of  what  he  does  under  direction  of 
his  master.  And,  at  the  extreme,  a  fully  hypnotized 
subject  has  no  responsibility  for  actions  his  hypnotizer 
commands.  In  all  these  cases  it  will  be  observed  that 
the  will  is  held  responsible  only  for  such  resistance  to 
•opposing  forces  as  its  strength  permits. 

And  what  is  true  when  external  forces  oppose  the  will 
is  equally  true  when  it  is  opposed  by  internal  forces. 
Many  shrink  from  the  latter  admission,  both  from  fear  of 
unduly  complicating  the  problem  for  simple  natures,  and 
from  fear  of  encouraging  in  place  of  discouraging  the 
internal  opponents  of  will  in  weak  natures.  But,  as  a 
few  instances  will  show,  what  is  often  denied  as  a  general 


22  ETHICS 

proposition,  is  admitted  in  the  particular  cases  contem- 
plated  by  the  general  proposition.  Many  cases  like  the 
following  can  be  found  in  Professor  Ribot's  Diseases  of 
the  Will  from  which  it  is  summarized.  An  unfortunate 
young  Frenchman  found  himself  afflicted  with  a  well-nigh 
irresistible  impulse  to  kill  his  mother.  In  dread  lest  the 
impulse  should  at  some  time  overmaster  him,  he  enlisted 
in  the  army  and  served  three  years  with  distinction  and 
fidelity  in  Algeria.  At  the  end  of  his  term  the  homicidal 
impulse  was  still  upon  him,  though  by  that  time  his 
sister-in-law  was  substituted  for  his  mother  as  the  threat- 
ened victim.  Determined  that  he  would  not  give  the 
impulse  its  opportunity,  the  young  man  reenlisted  for 
another  term.  During  his  second  term  he  heard  of  his 
sister-in-law's  death,  and,  thinking  the  danger  over,  he 
hastened  to  his  native  village,  absence  from  which  had 
all  along  been  a  great  trial  to  him.  But  it  was  only  to 
hear  on  his  arrival  that  she  was  still  alive,  and  to  feel 
again  the  dreaded  impulse.  He  thereupon  sought  admis- 
sion to  an  asylum,  asking  that,  for  security's  sake,  he  be 
permanently  confined,  and  insisting  that  at  no  time  should 
any  attention  be  paid  to  appearances  or  protestations  of 
cure.  Had  this  young  man  been  so  unfortunate  as  to 
meet  his  sister-in-law  with  the  impulse  strong  upon  him, 
and  had  the  latter  forced  itself  into  action  in  spite  of  his 
utmost  and  unremitting  efforts  to  restrain  it,  it  is  safe  to 
say  that  no  one,  convinced  that  the  case  was  undoubtedly 
that  described,  would  hold  him  morally  responsible  for 
the  killing.  And  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  cases 
like  this  are  exceptionally  rare.  Many  like  them  are 
found,  and  less  extreme  cases  make  up  the  bulk  of  the 
records  of  impulsive  insanity.  Sometimes  the  impulse 
will  be  periodic  rather  than  constant.  Sometimes  it  is 
an  impulse  to  a  trivial  act.  Sometimes  the  danger  con- 
sists in  the  suddenness  with  which  the  impulse  appears, 
and  its  issuance  in  action  before  the  will  is  at  all  aroused. 


MORAL  AND  NON-MORAL  PHENOMENA  28 

While  sometimes,  though  aroused,  the  will  has  not  time 
to  attain  full-grown  vigour,  or  to  acquire  sufficient  fore- 
sight and  realization  of  consequences  to  cope  with  the 
well-developed  impulse  and  restrain  it.  In  cases  of  the 
types  suggested  it  is  matter  of  common  knowledge  that 
the  unfortunate  individuals  are  not  held  to  full  respon- 
sibility. In  the  situations  under  consideration,  a  moral 
phenomenon,  the  will,  and  non-moral  agencies,  blind  im- 
pulses, contribute  to  the  consequences  that  ensue,  and  it 
would  be  a  confusion  as  well  as  an  injustice  to  hold  the 
former  responsible  for  the  consequences  due  to  the  latter. 
Again,  native  weakness  of  will,  and  of  its  allies,  the 
feelings  and  the  intellect,  temper  judgment  much  as  ex- 
ternal and  internal  coercion  do.  From  cold  natures  less 
depth  and  delicacy  of  kindness  is  exacted,  and  in  general 
full  strength  and  finish  of  action  is  expected  from  any 
individual  only  in  those  directions  in  which  his  will  is 
reenforced  by  his  feelings.  In  like  manner  delinquency 
is  partially  condoned  by  stupidity  ;  where  the  intellect  is 
weak,  the  will  can  have  but  little  foresight  for  its  guid- 
ance, and  a  man  is  not  responsible  for  what  could  not 
have  been  foreseen.  Lastly,  will  itself  may  be  weak,  or 
even  absent.  All  are  familiar  with  people  possessing  little 
habit  or  ability  of  self-control,  and  with  the  large  allow- 
ances made  for  their  shortcomings.  It  is  not  necessary 
to  turn  to  morbid  literature  to  find  them.  But  at  the 
same  time  morbid  cases  are  more  carefully  described  and 
better  authenticated,  and  besides,  being  extreme  cases, 
are  easier  to  understand,  and  are  therefore  useful  in 
throwing  light  on  the  more  normal  cases.  Strikingly  in 
point  are  the  hysterics,  mere  creatures  of  impulse,  versa- 
tile, fantastic,  and  capricious;  now  astonishingly  loqua- 
cious, now  sombre  and  taciturn ;  to-day  joyous,  amiable, 
and  gracious,  to-morrow  sensitive  and  irascible ;  at  one 
time  pursuing  with  their  hatred  persons  they  had  formerly 
all  but  smothered  with  affection  ;  passing,  in  fact,  with. 


24  ETHICS 

incredible  rapidity  from  any  mood  to  its  opposite,  "  noth- 
ing more  constant  in  them  than  their  inconstancy."  And 
"  almost  all  the  divers  phases  of  their  character,  of  their 
mental  state,  can  be  summed  up  in  these  words :  They 
know  not  how,  they  cannot,  they  do  not  wish  to  will.  In- 
deed, it  is  because  their  will  is  always  wavering  and  giving 
way,  it  is  because  it  is  constantly  in  a  state  of  instable 
equilibrium,  it  is  because  it  turns  to  the  gentlest  wind  like 
the  weathercock  on  our  roofs,  it  is  for  all  these  reasons 
that  the  hysterics  show  that  mobility,  that  inconstancy, 
and  that  mutability  in  their  desires,  in  their  ideas,  and  in 
their  affections."^  But  even  more  extreme  is  the  plight 
of  epileptics  during  their  seizures.  In  them  will  is  not 
merely  impaired  and  weak,  but  wholly  absent ;  each 
impulsion  finds  its  way  into  action  without  let  or  hin- 
drance. It  is  not  necessary  to  dwell  on  these  unfortunate 
and  unpleasant  cases.  It  is  evident  with  regard  to  them, 
and  is  true  in  all  cases,  that  responsibility  is  lessened  in 
proportion  as  will  is  weak  without  fault. 

In  a  word,  the  fight  between  the  will,  representing  the 
individual,  and  the  rebellious  impulse  must  be  a  fair  one. 
In  proportion  as  the  impulse  has  an  undue  advantage, 
whether  by  reason  of  unfortunate  temperament  or  expe- 
rience, or  of  mistaken  belief,  or  of  the  presence  of 
overweening  influences,  the  individual's  responsibility  is 
assessed  lower. 

From  these  facts  a  double  conclusion  emerges.  It  is 
among  voluntary  actions,  which  men  both  will  or  consent 
to,  and  in  which  they  know  what  they  are  about,  that 
moral  phenomena  are  to  be  sought.  An  action  which  is 
willed  or  consented  to,  with  full  foresight  and  realization 
of  consequences,  is  in  its  entirety,  through  and  through, 
amenable  at  the  bar  of  morality.      Now  if  every  action 

1  What  is  said  about  hysterics  is  partly  summarized  and  partly  quoted 
from  Azenfeld  and  Huchard,  Traite  des  necroses,  2d  ed.,  1883,  pp. 
968-971 ;  vide  Ribot  Les  maladie  de  la  volunte,  Ch.  III. 


MORAL  AND  NON-MORAL  PHENOMENA  25 

either  completely  answered  that  description,  or  else  wholly 
failed  to  do  so,  moral  judgment  could  be  easily  passed. 
But  the  fact  is,  that  most  actions  are  not  the  results  of 
clear,  full,  and  free  volition  with  enlightened  knowledge. 
If  any  such  there  be,  other  actions  shade  off  from  them 
very  gradually,  till  the  point  is  reached  where  both  self- 
control  and  foresight  wholly  disappear.  And  it  is  the 
medium  ranges  which  occasion  the  difficulty,  for  though 
the  performances  there  have  some  of  the  marks,  they  do 
not  measure  up  to  the  full  requirements  for  inclusion  in 
their  entirety  among  moral  phenomena.  And  this  fail- 
ure on  their  part  leads  many  into  confusion,  and  impels 
some  moralists  to  adopt  a  rigidity  of  description  that  does 
great  violence  to  the  facts. 

§  3.     Neither  Emotional  States,  Intellectual  States,  nor 
Fixed  Habits  are  Moral  Phenomena 

The  facts  so  far  examined  support  the  conclusion  that 
only  voluntary  actions  are  moral  phenomena,  and  that  may 
turn  out  to  be  the  correct  view.  There  are  apparent  ex- 
ceptions, however,  and  these  must  be  examined  before  the 
conclusion  can  be  accepted  with  full  confidence.  All  are 
familiar  with  the  convenient  division  of  psychic  states  into 
the  volitional,  the  intellectual,  and  the  emotional.  Now,  it 
is  commonly  supposed  that  men  are  responsible  not  only  for 
volitional,  but  also  for  emotional  and  intellectual  states, 
and  moreover  it  seems  often  to  be  assumed  that  men  are 
responsible  for  their  habits,  even  when  these  have  become 
so  fixed  as  to  be  beyond  the  control  of  the  will.  Vindic- 
tive feelings,  suspicious  thoughts,  intemperate  habits,  will 
serve  a^  examples  of  non-volitional  states  for  which  men 
are  apparently  held  responsible.  If  the  appearance  is 
founded  in  fact,  it  cannot  be  maintained  that  only  voli- 
tional states  are  moral  phenomena. 

The  whole  subject  will  become  clearer  if  we  bear  in 
mind  the  mode  of  development  of  habits  of  action,  of  feeU 


26  ETHICS 

ing,  and  of  thought.  All  characteristic  behaviour  springs 
from  three  sources,  inborn  temperament,  environmental 
influences,  and  actions  willed  or  consented  to  by  the  agent. 
Any  habit  is  due  in  part  to  the  nature  with  which  the  indi- 
vidual was  born,  in  part  to  the  influences  by  which  he  has 
been  surrounded,  and  in  part  to  the  acquiesence  or  encour- 
agement he  has  accorded  the  mode  of  behaviour  in  question. 
Bearing  these  facts  in  mind,  it  is  not  difficult  to  discover 
one  reason  why  men  are  held  responsible  for  their  habits  : 
because,  namely,  even  when  the  habitual  act  is  at  the  time 
beyond  the  control  of  the  will,  the  strength  of  the  habit 
is  at  least  in  part  due  to  past  voluntary  acquiescence  or 
encouragement.  One  reason  for  holding  a  drunkard  re- 
sponsible for  his  excesses  is,  that  he  has  allowed  or  even 
encouraged  himself  to  become  a  drunkard ;  it  is  not  the 
present  irresistible  impulsion,  at  least  in  so  far  as  it  is 
irresistible,  for  which  he  is  held  responsible,  but  the  past 
lack  of  control,  when  control  was  still  possible.  And  evi- 
dently the  same  is  true  of  emotional  and  intellectual  states. 
A  man  who  has  allowed  himself  to  cherish  revengeful  feel- 
ings or  suspicious  thoughts  is  in  so  far  responsible  when- 
ever either  leads  to  the  evil  actions  that  naturally  flow 
from  it.  That  the  interpretation  given  is  correct  may 
be  seen  from  the  variation  in  the  responsibility  assessed 
depending  on  the  relative  importance  of  the  roles  of 
volition  and  of  other  forces.  Where  the  dominant  factor 
is  not  voluntary  action,  but  either  an  unfortunate  tempera- 
mental bent  or  strongly  demoralizing  external  influences, 
such  as  are  encountered  in  city  slums,  or  unavoidable 
ignorance  of  the  baneful  consequences  of  cherishing  the 
behaviour  condemned,  in  so  far  a  lesser  degree  of  respon- 
sibility is  assessed.  It  follows  that  where  men  are  held 
responsible  for  fixed  habits,  for  strong  feelings,  or  for 
insistent  thoughts,  it  is  not  for  these  states  in  themselves 
considered  that  responsibility  is  imputed,  but  for  them  as 
signs  indicating  the  prior  and  causative  existence  of  vol- 


MORAL  AND   NON-MORAL  PHENOMENA  27 

untary  actions,  which  are  the  true  moral  phenomena.  Of 
course  it  is  often  very  difficult  to  determine  how  much 
prior  volition  and  how  much  non-volitional  forces  have 
contributed  to  make  a  habit  what  it  is.  But  that  is  a 
practical  question  that  does  not  concern  us  here.  The 
point  to  bear  in  mind  is,  that  if  the  state  complained  of 
is  beyond  voluntary  control,  no  responsibility  is  imputed 
unless  volition  is  among  its  causes. 

A  second  reason  for  the  appearance  of  responsibility  for 
non-volitional  states  is  connected  with  the  fact  already 
alluded  to,  that  volitional  control  is  a  matter  of  degree. 
While  the  rise  into  consciousness  of  impulses,  feelings,  and 
thoughts  is  independent  of  volition,  their  influence  on 
action,  once  they  have  arisen,  is  in  different  degrees,  diffi- 
cult to  estimate  accurately,  subject  to  voluntary  control. 
At  times  an  irascible  man  cannot  suppress  the  beginnings 
of  anger,  but  he  generally  can,  though  it  is  difficult  to 
gauge  to  what  extent,  exercise  control  over  the  feeling 
and  the  actions  to  which  it  impels.  And  the  same  remarks 
apply  to  thoughts  and  habits.  Accordingly  what  seems 
to  be  condemnation  of  feelings,  thoughts,  and  habits,  and 
is  often  so  described,  is  in  fact  condemnation  of  the  failure 
to  exercise  proper  control  over  these  states.  And  of  course 
what  makes  possible  the  confusion  is  the  fact  that  con- 
demnation is  often  passed  on  states  that  are  conspicuously 
emotional,  intellectual,  or  habitual,  and  only  inconspicu- 
ously volitional,  with  the  result  that  the  states  are  not 
called  volitional,  and  that  men  seem  to  be  held  responsible 
for  non-volitional  states.^ 

^  As  a  matter  of  practical  expediency,  in  order  to  stimulate  to  assump- 
tion of  control,  agents,  especially  children,  are  sometimes  pimished  for 
commissions  and  omissions  beyond  their  control.  Again,  where  men 
canse  and  profit  by  injury  to  others,  they  are  sometimes  held  answerable 
for  reparation,  even  though  they  could  not  have  acted  otherwise.  In 
both  cases  responsibility  is  imputed,  but  in  a  sense  different  from  that  in 
which  the  word  has  so  far  been  used  in  the  present  discussion.  Theso 
cases  will  be  discussed  in  taking  up  (4)  and  (5)  of  the  table  on  pages  30-31. 


28  ETHICS 

The  conclusion  is,  that  men  are  responsible  only  for  vol- 
untary actions,  and  that  when  they  appear  to  be  held 
responsible  for  feelings,  thoughts,  and  habits,  the  respon- 
sibility is  in  fact  either  for  the  acquiescence  or  encourage- 
ment that  made  these  possible,  or  for  failure  duly  to 
control  them. 

§  4.    Not  All  Voluntary  Actions  are  Morally  Judged 

While  leaving  further  discussion  and  fuller  specification 
for  a  later  chapter,  the  danger  of  misunderstanding  will 
be  averted  by  brief  mention  at  this  point  of  the  fact  that 
some  voluntary  actions  are  not  morally  judged.  In  actual 
practice  many  voluntary  actions  are  turned  over  to  the 
direction  of  individual  interest,  preference,  or  even  caprice. 
For  instance,  not  a  little  thought  and  decision  are  em- 
ployed in  dealing  with  matters  of  business,  of  the  choice 
of  professions  or  life-callings,  and  even  of  mere  pleasure 
and  entertainment.  In  these  and  similar  matters  volun- 
tary action  is  not  uncommon.  And  yet  there  is  no  wrong^ 
in  a  business  blunder,  or  in  ill-advisedly  choosing  a  pro- 
fession, or  in  missing  a  pleasure  aimed  at,  any  more  than 
there  is  moral  credit  in  success  in  these  fields.  Morally 
speaking,  the  actions  thus  roughly  suggested  are  indiffer- 
ent, or,  better  stated,  they  serve  morality  best  when  little 
supervised.  On  the  one  hand,  a  due  measure  of  spon- 
taneity keeps  individual  character  wholesome  and  strong, 
on  the  other,  the  magnanimity  of  morality  is  lost  as  soon 
as  it  descends  to  haggling  over  trifles.  Here  the  total 
result,  the  whole  life  and  character,  and  not  this  or  that 
particular  action,  is  the  moral  phenomenon.  There  will 
then  be  no  further  insistence  on  the  sufficiently  obvious 
fact  that  some  voluntary  actions  are  not  morally  judged, 
and  the  more  difficult  task  of  determining  what  voluntary 
actions  are  and  what  are  not  morally  judged  will  be 
postponed  till  a  later  discussion.* 

»  Vide  Ch.  VL 


MORAL  AND  NON-MORAL  PHENOMENA  29 

§  5.     What  Part  of  Voluntary  Actions  are  Moral 

Phenomena  ?  * 

Knowing  that  only  voluntary  actions  are  moral  phe- 
nomena, it  might  be  supposed  that,  after  discovering  what 
voluntary  actions  are  moral  phenomena,  nothing  more 
would  remain  to  be  done  in  order  to  solve  the  problem 
of  this  chapter.  And  such  a  supposition  would  be  true, 
if  voluntary  actions  were  clearly  defined  and  bounded 
entities,  say  like  so  many  cobbles  on  the  beach.  But 
that  unfortunately  is  not  the  case.  Voluntary  actions  are 
extremely  ill  defined,  and  are  very  complicated  besides. 
To  use  a  physical  simile,  they  are  not  unlike  the  springs 
that  are  to  be  found  bubbling  up  into  and  feeding  many 
lakes.  Where  the  spring  issues  it  is  easy  to  distinguish 
its  waters  from  those  of  the  lake,  and  even  at  some  little 
distance  away  this  still  remains  possible.  But  it  is 
impossible  to  say  with  accuracy  where  discrimination 
becomes  impossible,  though  at  no  great  remove  from  the 
point  of  issue  it  is  impossible  to  say  whether  the  water  is 
spring  water  or  lake  water.  And  voluntary  actions  are 
similarly  indefinite.  If  A  intentionally  and  with  accurate 
aim  shoots  B  through  the  heart,  the  killing  of  B  is  A's 
act.  If  B  •  is  his  family's  only  support,  A  may  be  said  to 
deprive  the  family  of  its  support.  But  if  as  a  further 
consequence  B's  son  has  to  leave  college,  it  would  hardly 
be  said  that  A  deprives  B's  son  of  a  college  education,  nor 
would  it  be  said  that  A  injures  the  people  of  his  state 
because  B's  son  blunders  as  Governor  through  deficiency 
in  economic  training.  The  immediate  consequences  of  an 
act  are  looked  upon  as  part  of  the  act,  but  its  remoter 
efifects  are  looked  upon  merely  as  consequences.  And 
moreover,  though  the  consequences  of  every  act  continue 
to  work  themselves  out  as  long  as  time  endures,  they  soon 
become  so  entangled  with  other  events  as  to  make  it  im- 
possible to  trace  them  back  to  their  source. 


30 


ETHICS 


Owing  to  the  gradual  disappearance  of  an  act  and  its 
consequences  into  the  general  mass  of  surrounding  and 
subsequent  facts,  it  is  impossible  to  conceive  of  any  act 
with  precision,  and  naturally  very  difficult  to  decide 
justly  what  a  man  is  to  be  held  responsible  for  when  he 
performs  a  voluntary  action.  At  the  two  extremes  there 
is,  to  be  sure,  little  difficulty.  For  remote  and  unforesee- 
able consequences  the  man  is  not  held  responsible.  For 
the  consequences  that  he  deliberately  foresaw  and  in- 
tended he  is  responsible.  But  it  is  not  easy  to  say 
whether  a  man  is  or  is  not  responsible  for  the  conse- 
quences that  lie  between  these  two  extremes.  But  let  us 
analyze  the  consequences  that  flow  from  voluntary  actions, 
and  endeavour  by  that  means  to  throw  some  light  on  the 
problem.  It  will  be  convenient  to  set  forth  the  analysis 
in  the  following  table,  whose  different  items  will  be  dis- 
cussed in  order.  As  responsibility  for  injuries  has  been 
worked  out  more  carefully  than  merit  and  credit  for  bene- 
fits conferred,  the  former  only  will  be  considered,  and 
the  reader  will  find  little  difficulty  in  constructing  the 
corresponding  table  of  merit  and  credit  if  he  desires  to 
do  so. 

TABLE 


Injurious  consequences  of  voluntary  ac- 
tions. 


Responsibility  as 
measured  by  the  treat- 
ment of  the  agent  ap- 
propriate in  each  case. 


(1)   Motive,  i.e.  consequences  for  the  sake  • 
of  which  the  action  was  performed. 


(2)  Intention,  i.e.  consequences  foreseen 
and  consented  to. 

(3)  Consequences  unforeseen,  but  which 
the  agent  might  have  foreseen  if  he  had 
exercised  due  care. 


Punishment,    refor- 
'  mation,  social    protec- 
tion, and  reparation. 


MORAL  AND  NON-MORAL  PHENOMENA  31 

TABLE   (Continued) 


Injurious  consequences  of  voluntary  ac- 
tions. 


Responsibility  as 
measured  by  the  treat- 
ment of  the  agent  ajv 
propriate  in  each  case. 


Reformation,    social 
'  protection,  and  repara- 
tion. 

Social  protection  and 
reparation. 


(4)  Consequences  the  agent  was  incapable 
of  foreseeing,  but  which  he  could  be  brought 
to  foresee  under  similar  circumstances  in  the 
future,  if  properly  educated  in  the  meantime.  ^ 

(5)  Other  injurious  consequences  that  are 
"  immediately  "  and  "  directly  "  due  to  the 
action,  but  do  not  fall  under  previous  heads. 

(6)  "  Remote  "  consequences.  No  responsibility. 

Punishment,  Reformation,  Protection,  and  Reparation.  — 
A  little  study  of  the  table  will  probably  make  it  clear,  but 
in  order  that  there  may  be  no  misunderstanding,  a  few 
words  will  be  added  to  explain  the  three  degrees  of 
responsibility.  When  a  man  acts  for  the  sake  of  doing 
injury,  he  is  called  upon  to  bear  full  responsibility  for  the 
injury  done.  He  has  done  wrong  from  love  of  evil,  and 
punishment  is  the  fitting  mode  of  expressing  social  con- 
demnation of  his  malicious  transgression.  He  has  exhib- 
ited a  dangerous  trait  of  character,  and  it  is  proper  that 
all  legitimate  means  should  be  employed  to  reform  him, 
and  to  protect  society  from  him  till  he  is  reformed.  He 
has  profited  at  the  expense  of  another,  taking  undue 
license  and  inflicting  unwarranted  injury,  and  reparation 
is  called  for  at  his  hands  to  bring  about  a  readjustment.* 

Where  a  man  intentionally  inflicts  an  injury,  the  full 
measure  of  responsibility  rests  upon  him,  provided  always 

1  It  should  be  pointed  out  that  reparation  is  seldom  possible,  and  full 
reparation  all  but  never  possible.  This  is  the  blackest  aspect  of  wrong- 
doing. 


32  ETHICS 

the  injury  is  wrongfully  inflicted.  The  hangman  inten- 
tionally injures  the  condemned  man,  but  does  not  wrong- 
fully injure  him ;  the  burglar,  who  shoots  the  householder 
dead,  does  both  intentional  and  wrongful  injury,  though 
his  motive  is  plunder  and  not  murder.  It  is  plain  then 
that  in  the  case  of  consequences  intended  the  distinction 
between  wrongful  and  legitimate  intent  is  pertinent, 
though  at  this  point  it  will  be  impossible  to  do  more 
than  mention  the  distinction,  which  it  is  the  central  aim 
of  the  whole  book  to  elucidate.  Provided  then  that  the 
intentional  injury  has  been  wrongfully  inflicted,  punish- 
ment fitly  expresses  social  condemnation,  reformation  of 
a  harmful  character  and  protection  of  society  are  called 
for,  and  reparation  for  an  unjust  injury  is  demanded  by 
justice. 

Thirdly,  it  is  fully  admitted  that  reckless  injury,  pro- 
vided again  it  is  wrongful,  entails  full  responsibility.  To 
excuse  from  responsibility  when  carelessness  takes  the 
place  of  foresight,  would  be  to  encourage  the  cultivation 
of  recklessness,  and,  besides,  those  who  are  not  concerned 
to  avoid  the  doing  of  wrongful  injury,  practically  con- 
sent to  its  infliction,  and  thus  put  themselves  in  the  class 
just  disposed  of.  For  instance,  a  man  who  recklessly  dis- 
charges a  revolver  in  a  crowded  thoroughfare  is  fully 
responsible  for  any  injury  done. 

Reformation^  Protection,  and  Reparation.  —  The  thought- 
less injuries  due  to  children  offer  the  plainest  cases  under 
the  present  heading.  Before  years  of  discretion  have 
been  reached,  unwarranted  injuries  must,  no  doubt,  often 
be  inflicted,  but  the  time  of  coming  into  discretion  will 
be  unnecessarily  postponed  if  means  are  not  devised  for 
training  youthful  characters  to  greater  prudence  and 
care.  And  what  is  true  most  conspicuously  of  children 
is  also  true  of  adults.  By  holding  men  to  a  standard 
higher  than  they  can  quite  reach,  the  measure  of  prudent 
foresight  to  which  they  attain  is  increased.     When  men. 


MORAL  AND  NON-MORAL  PHENOMENA  83 

mflict  unwarranted  injury  —  for  here,  too,  the  injury  must 
be  unwarranted  —  they  are  held  answerable  in  many  ways. 
It  is  to  the  interest  of  all  that  each  should  improve  in  dis- 
cretion as  much  as  possible,  and  one  essential  to  that  end 
is  the  infliction  of  penalties  on  the  indiscreet,  in  order  to 
call  their  attention  to  their  mistakes.  The  penalties  may 
be  severe  or  may  be  mild.  That  is  relatively  unimportant. 
The  important  thing  is,  that  the  penalties  should  be  educa- 
tionally effective.  In  the  cases  under  consideration,  the 
agent  is  so  far  responsible  that  compulsion,  if  necessary, 
may  be  used  to  train  him  to  avoid  similar  blunders  in  the 
future,  to  protect  society  from  him  in  the  meantime,  and, 
80  far  as  possible,  to  enforce  reparation  from  him  for  profit- 
ing at  another's  expense. 

But  the  great  difference  between  these  cases  and  those 
falling  under  (1),  (2),  and  (3)  is,  that  here  the  responsi- 
bility of  the  agent  is  not  of  a  kind  that  entails  punish- 
ment, in  the  proper  sense  of  the  word.  There  is  injury, 
and  unwarranted  injury,  but  there  is  no  blame.  In  the 
cases  discussed  earlier,  the  agent  either  knowingly  does 
wrong,  or  is  not  especially  concerned  to  avoid  doing 
wrong.  In  the  cases  at  present  contemplated  it  is  beyond 
the  capacity  of  the  agent  to  avoid  unwarranted  injury. 
And  here  it  is  as  important  to  insist  that  this  incapacity 
does  not  in  practice  prevent  strong  measures  with  a  view 
to  reformation,  protection,  and  reparation,  as  it  is  to  insist 
that,  however  strong  the  measures  adopted,  incapacity 
bars  the  imputation  of  blame.  If  theory  could  be  made 
to  square  with  the  best  practice  in  this  field,  many  enemies 
of  society  who  are  lawbreakers  because  of  mistakes  due  to 
imperfect  training  could  be  treated  at  once  more  fairly  and 
effectively,  and  more  justly.  As  it  is,  penalties  being 
assumed  to  go  with  guilt  and  blame,  and  many  injurious 
blunderers  being  blameless  and  guiltless,  they  too  often 
either  escape  effective  treatment,  or  else  are  branded  with 
an  undeserved  stigma. 


34  ETHICS 

Reparation  and  Protection :  No  Responsibility .  —  There 
is  still  a  minimum  of  responsibility  for  some  consequences 
that  the  agent  did  not  foresee,  could  not  have  foreseen,  and 
could  not  be  trained  to  foresee  in  similar  cases  in  the  future. 
Of  course  there  is  no  blame,  and,  by  express  statement, 
reformation  is  impossible.  Yet  there  are  cases  where 
serious  and  unwarranted  injury  has  been  done,  and  where 
reparation  and  such  inconvenience  and  restraint  as  are 
needed  for  the  protection  of  society  are  called  for.  Take 
the  case  where  A's  cattle  break  out  of  their  enclosure,  in 
spite  of  A's  having  used  all  the  care  he  reasonably  could 
have  used,  or  could  learn  to  use,  and  destroy  B's  valuable 
crop  in  an  adjoining  field.  A  is  not  guilty  and  could  learn 
no  better.  He  has  a  right  to  own  and  pasture  cattle,  and 
he  has  taken  all  reasonable  care  to  avoid  injuring  any 
neighbour.  But  B  has  suffered  injury,  which  is  directly 
due  to  A,  an  incident  to  an  enterprise  undertaken  by  the 
latter  for  his  own  pleasure  or  profit.  The  courts  and 
public  opinion  have  always  held  that  under  circumstances 
like  these  A  owes  B  reparation.  Or  take  the  cases  where 
society  protects  itself  from  blameless  and  unteachable 
lunatics.  And  there  are  many  other  cases  in  general  simi- 
lar to  these,  though  differing  rather  widely  in  detail.  But 
the  purpose  is  not  to  discuss  such  cases,  or  to  give  a  full 
account  of  the  circumstances  under  which  reparation  and 
protection  for  society  may  rightly  be  insisted  on,  even 
though  punishment  would  be  unjust  and  reformation  im- 
possible.^ The  purpose  is  merely  to  make  it  plain  that 
there  sometimes  is  a  minimum  of  responsibility,  as  de- 
scribed, for  consequences  that  fall  under  the  fourth  head. 

Two  specifications,  however,  must  be  insisted  on.  The 
injury  must  be  unwarranted,  and  it  must  be  the  "  direct " 
and   "  immediate "  consequence   of  the   action,  and  not 

1  The  law  of  torts  has  worked  out  the  subject  of  responsibility  carefully 
and  most  instructively.  Vide  Pollock's,  Coolidge's,  Jaggard's,  or  any 
other  standard  text-book. 


MORAL  AND  NON-MORAL  PHENOMENA  35 

merely  its  "  remote  "  consequence.  Passing  over  the  first 
specification,  which  has  been  mentioned  before,  the  second 
is  plainly  based  upon  the  ill-defined  extent  of  voluntary 
actions.  The  forces  to  which  they  give  rise  soon  merge 
with,  assist  and  are  assisted  by,  thwart  and  are  thwarted 
by,  other  forces,  so  that  remote  effects,  those  that  are  not 
immediately  and  directly  due  to  any  given  action,  cannot 
safely  be  traced  back  to  it.  Of  coui-se,  consequences  are 
not  called  immediate  and  direct  so  much  in  view  of  the 
period  of  time  that  elapses,  as  in  view  of  the  absence  of 
mediation  and  deflection  by  other  forces  with  which  they 
are  entangled.  And  where  the  consequences  are  remote, 
there  evidently  is  no  responsibility  for  them. 

In  closing  this  section,  it  should  be  just  mentioned  that 
the  most  important  distinction  here  touched  upon  is  that 
between  responsibility  with  blame  and  responsibility  with- 
out blame,  or,  in  terms  of  benefits  rather  than  injuries, 
between  praiseworthy  well-doing  and  well-doing  that 
is  above  praise.  In  the  table  the  dividing  line  passes 
between  (3)  and  (4).  The  distinction  is  important  because 
it  is  essentially  the  same  as  that  between  subjective  and 
objective  morality,  a  distinction  that  divides  Ethics  into 
two  parts.  The  discussion  of  that  distinction  will  be 
taken  up  in  the  next  chapter,  and  need  not  be  anticipated 
here. 

§  G.     Actions  and  Agents 

Actions  are  morally  judged,  agents  are  both  morally 
judged  and  held  responsible.  The  reason  for  this  dis- 
tinction is  not  far  to  seek.  A  voluntary  action  has  no 
existence  independent  of  its  agent,  and  moreover  it  does 
not  peraist  to  be  held  responsible  as  its  agent  does. 

No  voluntary  action  performs  itself.  In  every  case  the 
agent  in  entirety  is  present,  or  at  least  is  prevented  by  no 
external  hindrance  from  being  present.  If  in  acting  he 
fails  to  consider  any  interest  involved,  this  — aside  from 
his  being  unduly  hurried,  or  otherwise  disturbed  or  inter- 


36  ETHICS 

fered  with,  a  case  of  coercion  impairing  the  full  volun- 
tariness of  the  action — is  determined  by  his  own  character 
and  by  nothing  else.  Nor  normally  does  anything  external 
prevent  the  modification  of  the  proposed  action,  nor  the 
appearance  in  competition  with  it  of  any  alternatives, 
equally  possible,  and  in  better  harmony  with  all  interests 
concerned.  No  voluntary  action,  therefore,  stands  in  inde- 
pendence by  itself.  What  it  is  in  strength,  direction,  and 
specific  detail,  it  is  because  the  agent  so  wills  or  consents. 
Properly  speaking,  then,  the  action  is  approved  or  disap- 
proved not  in  itself,  but  as  representing  and  indicating  the 
agent  and  his  character.  And  the  agent  is  as  responsible 
for  his  voluntary  actions  as  he  is  for  his  own  character  or 
inmost  self. 

But,  in  the  second  place,  actions  are  ephemeral.  No 
sooner  do  they  appear  than  they  disappear  again  into  the 
past,  beyond  the  reach  alike  of  punishment,  moral  judg- 
ment, and  reformation.  Moreover,  were  an  action  to  exist 
for  some  time,  it  could  not  understand  moral  judgment, 
nor  could  it  feel  moral  punishment.  For  an  action  is 
neither  intelligent  nor  sensitive.  Indeed,  it  is  only  when 
benefits  and  injuries  are  the  effects  of  intelligent  and  sen- 
sitive causes,  that  it  is  anything  but  futile  to  pass  judg- 
ment or  inflict  punishment.  Many  other  forces  of  nature 
inflict  far  more  harmful  effects,  but  against  them  the 
weapons  of  morality  are  ineffective.  And  in  the  same  cate- 
gory with  these  forces  are  to  be  placed  extreme  cases  of 
genuinely  morbid  actions,  which  are  too  strong  for  the 
will  or  succeed  by  taking  the  will  entirely  unawares. 
Actions  of  this  kind  are  fleeting,  independent,  detached 
from  will  and  agency,  and  therefore  beyond  the  reach  of 
moral  influences.  The  responsibility  of  the  individuals 
whose  bodies  perform  them  is  no  more  real  than  that  of 
any  chance  passer-by.  And  accordingly  the  real  reason 
for  holding  men  responsible  only  for  voluntary  actions  is 
practical.      To  punish  them  for  what  is  beyond  control 


MORAL  AND  NON-MORAL  PHENOMENA  37 

of  will  is  futile,  except  in  so  far  as  punishment  teaches  to 
acquire  control. 

But  men  are  responsible  for  their  voluntary  actions 
because  they  produce  them,  understand  the  judgments 
passed  upon  them,  suffer  from  punishment,  and  appreciate 
reward. 

And  the  conclusion  of  this  chapter  is  that  men  in  their 
voluntary  actions  are  the  only  moral  phenomena,  and 
therefore  constitute  the  subject-matter  of  Ethics. 

For  convenience  the  term  "moral"  has  been  used  in  this 
chapter  as  the  antithesis  of  non-moral,  in  which  sense  it 
includes  both  the  moral  and  the  immoral.  But,  employ- 
ing a  narrower  sense  of  the  term,  prevailing  usage  often 
finds  it  convenient  to  oppose  moral  to  immoral.  As  the 
main  business  of  the  remainder  of  the  book  is  to  distin- 
guish what  is  moral  from  what  is  immoral,  the  narrower 
meaning  will  hereafter  be  employed,  except  that  where 
the  context  renders  confusion  impossible  the  usage  of  this 
-chapter  may  be  employed. 


PART   I 

SUBJECTIVE  MORALITY  AND   THE  INDI- 
VIDUAL  CONSCIENCE 


CHAPTER  m 

Subjective  Morality 

§  1.    Perceptional  Intuitionism 

The  reason  why  one  chapter  has  suflSced  for  an  account 
of  moral  as  distinguished  from  non-moral  phenomena  is 
that  all  men  agree  in  pointing  out  the  characteristics  dis- 
tinguishing the  former.  An  examination  revealed  so 
minute  a  sensitiveness  to  everything  that  in  the  least 
detracts  from  the  full  voluntariness  of  concrete  actions 
that  no  place  was  left  for  doubt,  and  voluntary  actions 
were  picked  out  as  the  only  moral  phenomena.  Approach- 
ing now  the  main  task,  that  of  defining  morality  as  dis- 
tinguished from  immorality,  it  will  be  convenient,  and  in 
every  way  best,  to  try  the  same  simple  method.  If  every 
action  considered  moral  or  immoral  by  any  man  is  similarly 
regarded  by  every  other  man,  it  will  be  easy  for  any  one, 
for  the  ethical  writer  for  instance,  to  gather  as  many  right 
and  wrong  actions  as  he  chooses,  and  by  careful  comparison 
to  discover  the  essential  properties  characteristic  of  the 
two  classes.  Indeed,  the  undertaking  will  be  so  easy  as 
to  be  all  but  useless.  The  ethical  writer  need  not  antici- 
pate what  any  man  can  accurately  do  for  himself  as  often 
as  the  necessity  arises.  Ethics  will  of  course  have  to  prove 
that  every  man  knows  whether  any  action  is  moral  or 
immoral,  and  how  moral  or  immoral  it  is,  but  beyond  that 
its  task  will  be  comparatively  simple.  A  theory  that  will 
so  simplify  the  task  of  Ethics,  if  true,  is  well  worthy  of 
examination. 

41 


42  ETHICS 

And  in  fact  such  a  theory,  well-named  Perceptional 
Intuitionism  by  Professor  Sidgwick,  has  been  held  by 
common  opinion  if  not  by  ethical  writers.  What  has 
been  said  suggests  the  nature  of  the  theory,  and  the  name 
makes  it  clearer,  but  for  convenience  of  discussion  its  three 
main  tenets  will  be  mentioned  separately.  According  to 
the  first  every  man,  in  presence  of  a  concrete  action,  per- 
ceives its  moral  value  by  intuition,  i.e.  by  an  apprehension 
as  immediate  as  that  by  which  men  perceive  the  whiteness 
of  a  swan  or  the  blackness  of  a  crow,  and  as  assured  as  any 
intuition  of  mathematics,  e.g.  that  two  and  two  make  four. 
According  to  the  second  tenet  no  two  men  who  are  honest 
and  sincere  really  differ  in  their  estimates  of  the  moral 
value  of  an  action.  No  doubt  men  may  misunderstand 
each  other  in  discussing  actions,  one  talking  about  one 
Action,  another  about  another ;  or  may  mistake  one  action 
for  another,  as  a  calculator  may  mistake  a  3  for  a  5 ;  or 
they  may  deceive  others  or  themselves  in  announcing  their 
perceptions.  But,  as  this  tenet  holds,  men  do  not  really 
differ  regarding  the  morality  or  immorality  of  the  same 
action.  It  is  this  tenet  that  has  been  most  ingeniously, 
and  at  times  sophistically  defended.  According  to  the 
third  tenet,  every  genuine  moral  perception  is  valid.^ 

§  2.     Plausibility  of  Perceptional  Intuitionism 

First  observe  that  the  amount  of  evidence  that  can  be 
advanced  in  support  of  the  three  tenets  is  very  large,  cov- 
ering most  of  the  experiences  of  the  busy  man's  life. 
Going  through  his  familiar  daily  round,  it  is  seldom  that 

1  Alongside  of  Perceptional  Intuitionism  Professor  Sidgwick  places 
Dogmatic  Intuitionism,  which  maintains  only  the  "  middle  axioms  "  of 
common  sense,  e.g.  that  acts  of  stealing  are  immoral  and  acts  of  friend- 
ship moral,  and  Philosophical  Intuitionism,  which  discusses  the  funda- 
mental principles  upon  which  the  middle  axioms  are  based.  These  two 
•doctrines  will  be  considered  later.  Cf.  Professor  Sidgwick's  Methods  of 
Ethics,  Bk.  I,  Ch.  VIII. 


SUBJECTIVE   MORALITY  43 

he  feels  any  hesitancy  as  to  what  he  ought  to  do,  and 
generally,  in  his  beliefs  if  not  in  his  actions,  he  is  in  such 
substantial  accord  with  the  public  opinion  of  his  commun- 
ity that  nothing  awakens  doubt  as  to  the  validity  of  his 
moral  judgments.  And  although  this  is  no  doubt  rather 
true  in  settled  communities  where  men  find  their  work 
cut  out  for  them,  and  is  not  so  true  now  as  it  was  before 
recent  changes,  following  mechanical  inventions,  rendered 
social  relations  so  much  more  complicated,  yet  even  now 
there  are  many  men  whose  experience  will  scarcely  seem 
to  contradict  the  tenets  of  Perceptional  Intuitionism. 

And  even  if  some  discrepancies  appear,  opposing  theories 
seem  to  many  still  more  unsatisfactory.  The  consequences 
of  immoral  actions  being  so  serious  to  the  agent  as  well  as 
to  others,  and  similaily  the  consequences  of  moral  actions 
being  so  desirable,  it  is  difficult  to  believe  that  men  can- 
not identify  the  first  to  avoid  them  and  the  second  to 
perform  them.  And,  if  a  man's  best  efforts  have  been  put 
forth  in  reaching  a  decision,  it  is  not  easy  to  convince 
ourselves  that  he  does  wrong  in  acting  on  the  decision. 
And  finally,  do  we  not  admit  something  fundamentally 
wrong  with  the  world,  do  we  not  embrace  pessimism,  if 
we  hold  that  men  can  honestly  differ  so  widely  in  deciding 
what  is  right  as  to  feel  bound  to  oppose  each  other  in 
bitter  conflict  ?  Is  it  not  more  logical  to  believe  that  some 
at  least  of  the  conflicting  parties  are  dishonest,  negligent, 
or  at  least  self-deceived  in  their  views  ?  Considerations  of 
this  kind  undoubtedly,  in  the  eyes  of  many,  stand  opposed 
to  the  rejection  of  Perceptional  Intuitionism. 

Besides,  its  rejection  seems  to  not  a  few  very  unsatisfac- 
tory in  practice.  If  in  judging  a  man's  morality,  not  only 
his  intent,  but  his  insight,  dependent  as  it  is  on  differences 
of  native  gift  and  outward  opportunity,  must  be  taken 
into  consideration,  it  will  be  necessary  to  make  nice  and 
difficult  apportionments  of  praise  and  blame,  respect  and 
oontempt,  reward  and  punishment,  in  place  of  the  good 


44  ETHICS 

simple  device  of  heaping  benefits  upon  the  righteous  and 
burning  the  wicked. 

Resting  thus  on  widespread  experience,  satisfying  strong 
moral  demands,  and  appealing  to  convenience  of  judg- 
ment and  treatment,  especially  for  the  men  of  decision, 
who  in  every  field  rule  their  fellows,  it  is  not  surprising  that 
Perceptional  Intuitionism  should  have  a  large  following. 

§  3.    Errors  in  Perceptional  Intuitionism 

Against  the  first  tenet  of  the  theory  conclusive  evidence 
can  readily  be  brought.  Many  as  are  the  cases  where 
the  perception  of  the  morality  or  immorality  of  concrete 
actions  is  intuitive,  there  are  other  cases  at  least  as  plain, 
where  no  intuition  appears,  and  some  where  deliberation,, 
however  long  and  however  assisted  by  every  device  of 
sagacity  and  learning,  results  in  unavoidable  doubt. 
Everybody  knows  that  he  must  support  his  family  and 
conduct  his  business  honestly.  No  one  doubts  that  the 
cruelty  of  a  Nero,  the  sensuality  of  a  Caesar  Borgia,  and 
the  ruthless  selfishness  of  a  Jay  Gould  are  immoral,  for 
all  these  actions  sin  against  universally  accepted  moral 
laws.  But  when  in  face  of  complicated  situations  intui- 
tion is  not  so  ready.  The  Catholic  inquisitor  called  upon 
to  inflict  untold  torture,  the  Roundhead  leading  the  assault 
against  his  old  lord  and  the  home  of  his  childhood,  the 
Confederate  officer  charging  the  Federal  regiment  in  which 
he  held  a  commission,  is  not  at  once  sure  of  his  duty,  and 
having  acted  may  well  be  uneasy  in  conscience.  And  it 
cannot  be  said,  in  these  and  in  similar  cases,  that  it  is  the 
immoral  who  hesitate  while  the  moral  are  assured.  Intui- 
tion most  often  lags,  if  it  does  not  fail,  for  those  whose 
consciences  take  in  consequences  broadly  and  sensitively. 

And  in  addition  to  their  default,  men  change  and  differ 
in  their  intuitions  of  right  and  wrong.  Every  one  can 
think  of  actions  once  looked  upon  as  indifferent,  but  now 
known  to  be  wrong,  and  of  others  once  looked  upon  as^ 


SUBJECTIVE   MORALITY  45 

wrong,  but  now  less  seriously  regarded.  And  honest  dif- 
ferences are  probably  even  more  frequent,  as  the  briefest 
consideration  will  show.  For  instance,  only  bigots  will 
assert  that  their  opponents  on  the  liquor,  the  labour,  the 
woman,  or  any  other  large  contemporary  question,  are  dis- 
honest in  the  opposed  views  they  express.  But,  much 
as  there  is  of  it,  concrete  evidence  is  unnecessary  here. 
Hesitation  once  established,  difiference  is  established,  for 
deliberations  have  different  issues. 

And  the  same  may  be  said  of  error  in  moral  perception, 
of  the  mistaking  of  right  actions  for  wrong,  and  vice  versa. 
For  the  evidence  is  equaUy  abundant.  Probably  even 
Catholics  would  admit  that  many  errors  were  made  at  the 
time  of  the  Inquisition,  and  certainly  but  few  would  deny 
that  errors  have  been  made  by  fanatics  during  times  of 
religious  stress.  And  even  if  it  be  admitted  that  the 
agents  concerned  are  not  in  error  in  considering  their 
actions  moral,  it  must  then  be  admitted  that  the  world  is 
in  error  in  considering  them  immoral.  In  short,  to  admit 
that  the  same  act  may  appear  right  to  one  man  and  wrong 
to  another,  is  to  admit  the  point  at  issue.  If  morality  dif- 
fers at  all  from  a  rainbow  or  a  will-o'-the-wisp,  regarding 
any  one  act  there  is  but  one  true  opinion. 

And,  viewing  the  theory  as  a  whole,  do  we  know  so 
much  about  the  moral  government  of  the  world  as  to  know 
that  all  virtue  lies  in  intent  and  none  in  insight?  For  the 
successful  pursuit  of  other  practical  ends,  to  determination 
must  be  added  a  sufficiency  of  good  sense,  and  it  would  be 
strange  if  the  merest  bungler  should  have  an  equal  chance 
of  achieving  morality.  Mere  good  intentions,  however 
faithfully  fulfilled,  will  not  administer  well  the  affairs  of  a 
bank,  of  a  railroad,  or  of  a  government ;  and  to  be  sought 
as  administrators,  men  must  be  capable  as  well  as  conscien- 
tious. The  fact  is,  that  while  different  parts  of  our  nature 
have  different  values  and  significance,  every  part  has  some 
value  for  every  end;  and  for  morality  wisdom  is  as  indispen- 


46  ETHICS 

sable,  or  nearly  as  indispensable,  as  good  intentions,  being 
requisite  for  their  formation  and  guidance.  Nor  is  it  logical 
to  take  a  pessimistic  view  of  the  world,  because  in  it  there  is 
a  penalty  for  stupidity  according  to  its  degree,  and  a  propor- 
tionate recompense  for  good  judgment.  No  doubt  with  the 
rejection  of  Perceptional  Intuitionism  it  becomes  apparent 
that  only  men  with  an  efficient  moral  education  and  outlook 
will  avoid  immorality  and  its  undesirable  consequences,  and 
cling  to  morality  and  its  desirable  consequences.  But  this 
is  nothing  new.  In  the  intellectual  field  men  are  familiar 
with  the  fact  that  ignorance  has  its  penalties,  and  that  does 
not  arouse  any  sense  of  injustice.  The  fact  is  met  like  any 
other  difficulty,  systematic  attempts  being  multiplied  by 
means  of  intellectual  education  to  minimize  the  misfortune. 
And  with  systematic  endeavour,  which  does  not  at  present 
exist,  the  misfortune  of  moral  ignorance  and  inefficiency 
can  no  doubt  be  quite  as  effectively  avoided.^ 

§  4.    The  Truth  in  Perceptional  Intuitionism 

After  negative  criticism  comes  positive  criticism.  Hegel 
and  Herbert  Spencer  have  well  taught  that  no  theory  of 
standing  is  wholly  false ;  that  failure  to  recognize  the  truth 
it  contains  is  failure  to  understand  the  theory.  And  Eth- 
ics, which  is  seeking  the  true  conception  of  morality,  can- 
not afford  to  neglect  the  strength  of  any  serious  ethical 
theory,  and  must  accordingly  ask  what  truth  is  contained 
in  Perceptional  Intuitionism.  In  answer  it  may  first  be 
said  that  all  ethical  theories  ultimately  rest  on  the  perception 

1  The  cause  of  the  present  hesitancy  and  diversity  of  moral  perception 
is  to  be  found  in  the  lack  of  uniform,  and  indeed  of  any  moral  education. 
This  is  in  great  contrast  with  the  not  very  distant  past,  when  uniform 
and  authoritative  moral  training  was  the  rule.  At  that  time  errors  no 
doubt  existed  ;  indeed,  the  overthrow,  or  rather  the  gradual  decay  of  the 
system  is  a  suflBcient  index  of  opinion  on  that  point.  But  hesitation  and 
difference  were  certainly  less  general  then.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  the 
near  future  will  see  fundamental  moral  principles  established,  all  but 
unanimously  accepted,  and  efficiently  taught. 


SUBJECTIVE   MORALITY  47 

of  the  morality  and  immorality  of  concrete  actions.  For, 
first,  every  ethical  theory  is  based  on  some  one's  moral 
insights,  and,  second,  every  moral  insight  is  founded  on 
moral  perceptions.  Taking  up  the  first  statement,  it  has 
already  been  shown  that,  in  order  to  frame  a  theory  of 
right  and  wrong,  it  is  necessary  to  pick  out  moral  phe- 
nomena from  among  all  others,  and  then  by  careful  obser- 
vation and  discernment  to  discover  what  characterizes  the 
right  and  what  the  wrong.  Now  moral  insight  is  necessary 
both  for  the  selection  and  for  the  discovery.  It  is  either 
his  own  insight,  or  preferably  his  knowledge  of  the  insight 
of  others,  that  tells  the  theorist  that  storms  which  inflict 
injuiy,  and  men  who  do  so  in  insane  moments,  cannot  be 
held  responsible  and  are  not  moral  phenomena ;  and  it  is 
by  the  same  means  that  he  comes  to  know  morality  and 
immorality,  and  their  subdivisions,  justice  and  injustice, 
honesty  and  dishonesty,  temperance  and  intemperance,  etc. 
The  conscience  of  the  ethical  authority  is  a  carefully 
wrought  instrument  of  discernment,  trained  by  much  ob- 
servation and  reflection,  and  the  conscience  with  which  he 
writes  his  treatise  is  very  different  from  the  conscience 
with  which  he  began  his  investigations,  and  has  passed 
through  many  forms  on  the  way  from  the  one  to  the  other. 
Yet,  in  whatever  form  it  is,  only  its  own  insight,  or  its 
sympathetic  knowledge  of  the  insight  of  others,  can  pass 
on  the  pertinence  of  the  observed  facts  as  data  of  Ethics, 
and  on  their  value  as  moral  phenomena.  Hedonists  and 
evolutionists  are  apt  to  deny  any  value  to  insight,  at  least 
in  their  practice  they  pass  over  it  without  investigation. 
But  the  first  —  and  what  follows  applies  mutatis  mutandu 
to  evolutionists  —  can  say  that  the  right  alternative  action 
is  always  that  resulting  in  the  maximum  of  pleasure,  only 
because  of  their  belief  that  their  consciences,  and  those 
of  others  they  know,  decide  rightness  and  wrongness  on 
the  basis  of  the  pleasure  incomes  that  result  from  actions. 
When  the  hedonist  denies  this,  and  asserts  that  it  is  plea»- 


48  ETHICS 

ure  value  that  decides  the  morality  of  an  action,  he  is  so 
narrowly  scrutinizing  the  characteristic  of  an  action  that 
makes  it  moral,  that  he  overlooks  the  insight  that  reveals  to 
him  that  characteristic. 

And,  in  the  second  place,  all  moral  insight  is  founded  on 
moral  perception.  Later  chapters  on  the  origin  and  devel- 
opment of  conscience  will  show  that  men  first  approve  and 
disapprove  concrete  actions  and  only  later  come  to  general- 
ize and  form  theories  as  to  the  morality  and  immorality  of 
general  ways  or  modes  of  action,  and  until  then  full  dis- 
cussion of  the  subject  must  be  postponed.  But  even  here 
it  is  sufficiently  plain  that  genuinely  felt  approval  and  dis- 
approval can  scarcely  exist  for  kinds  of  action,  unless  in- 
stances of  them  have  been  performed,  or  at  least  witnessed. 
Men  do  not  first  approve  and  disapprove  kinds  of  action, 
and  later  on,  identifying  instances  of  them,  approve  and 
disapprove  the  latter  because  they  are  instances.  A  boy 
who  has  struck  and  hurt  his  sister  does  not  stop  to  think, 
Wanton  injury  is  wrong,  this  is  wanton  injury,  and  there- 
fore this  is  wrong.  Passing  over  mere  lip  moralizing, 
learnt  parrot-fashion,  genuine  approval  and  disapproval 
arise  in  the  first  place  with  acquaintance  with  concrete 
acts,  and  only  later  spread  to  other  actions  of  the  same  kind 
not  yet  experienced.  Were  total  absence  of  experience  of 
actions  of  a  given  kind,  of  cruel  acts  for  instance,  possible, 
it  would  leave  the  agent  without  any  moral  insight  with 
regard  to  them.  And  even  though  it  be  true  that  beyond 
a  certain  point  familiarity  breeds  acquiescence  in  what 
seems  unavoidable,  it  is  true  that  up  to  that  point  moral 
sensitiveness  grows  with  familiarity.  And  from  the  other 
side  also  confirmation  comes.  Where  knowledge  of  the 
consequences  of  actions  stops,  there  judgment  of  the  actions 
stops;  and  where  knowledge  of  the  consequences  is  ex- 
tended, judgment  broadens  to  consider  them.  Actions 
whose  injurious  consequences  are  unfamiliar  to  most  men 
seldom  awaken  more  than  formal  disapproval.     Because  it 


SUBJECTIVE   MORALITY  49 

18  difficult  to  trace  the  influence  of  bad  example,  men  hesi- 
tate to  blame  parents  for  the  evil  courses  of  their  children, 
though  these  be  directly  due  to  the  former's  bad  example. 
The  political  life  of  small  democracies,  where  evils  are 
easily  traced  to  their  authors,  may  well  remain  pure ;  but 
in  large  democracies,  where  this  is  a  much  more  intricate 
undertaking,  it  is  a  problem  yet  to  be  solved,  whether 
social  and  political  reformers,  whose  consciences  are  stirred 
by  familiarity  with  the  causes  and  their  results,  will  be 
able  to  arouse  the  masses  to  indignation  at  the  abuses  and 
corruption  that  so  greatly  injure  them.  The  ward  politi- 
cian sees  the  benefits  to  himself  and  to  his  friends  of  what 
he  considers  slight  irregularities,  and  failing  through  lack 
of  training  to  see  the  many  details  of  injury  done  the  peo- 
ple at  large,  he  does  not  number  such  actions  among  those 
deserving  moral  condemnation. 

Further  evidence  will  appear  later,  but  probably  it  is 
already  plain  that  the  fir»t  word  in  every  one's  ethical 
theory  is  said  by  moral  perception.  If  not  the  finished 
product,  moral  perceptions  are  the  raw  material  of  ethical 
theory.  Perceptional  in  tuition  ists  are  in  error  in  asserting 
that  all  moral  perceptions  are  intuitive,  as  they  are  in 
asserting  that  all  are  valid,  but  moral  perception  is  from  the 
nature  of  the  case  at  the  basis  of  all  ethical  opinion,  and  in 
that  important  sense  their  theory  is  justified.  For  a  prac- 
tical man  or  for  an  ethical  scientist  to  attempt  to  frame  a 
theory  on  any  basis  except  the  perception  of  moral  phe- 
nomena is  as  impossible  as  it  is  for  the  chemist  to  build  up 
his  science  without  observing  elements  and  compounds  ; 
and  theories  based  'on  partial  and  inadequate  observation 
are  unscientific  quite  as  much  for  the  one  as  they  are 
acknowledged  to  be  for  the  other.  All  ethical  insight 
is  based  on  moral  perception,  and  for  adequate  ethical 
insight  and  theory,  adequate  moral  perception  is  indis- 
pensable. 


60  ETHICS 

§  5.     Subjective  Morality 

It  is  now  necessary  to  determine  the  morality  of  action* 
that  follow  the  agent's  moral  perceptions.  For  in  a  sense 
still  more  important  Perceptional  Intuitionism  is  funda- 
mentally right.  Ethical  theory,  namely,  deals  with  general 
ways  of  acting,  with  the  "middle  axioms,"  as  well  as 
with  particular  moral  actions,  but  morality  itself  is  made 
up  exclusively  of  concrete  actions,  and  whatever  else  is 
needed  to  make  an  action  moral,  its  agent's  apprehension 
of  it  as  moral  is  essential.  When  the  reasons  in  support 
of  Perceptional  Intuitionism  were  being  considered,  an 
attempt  was  made  to  give  some  idea  of  the  strength  of  the 
aversion  to  admitting  that  a  man  can  do  wrong  after  using 
his  utmost  endeavour  to  decide  what  is  right  and  to  follow 
the  decision.  Afterwards,  when  objections  were  con- 
sidered, they  forced  the  admission  that  even  such  ample 
fulness  of  endeavour  might  not  avail  a  man  in  doing  the 
full  measure  of  right  demanded  by  the  highest  standard, 
the  same  conclusion  having  been  reached  when  the  respon- 
sibility for  the  consequences  of  actions  were  being  dis- 
cussed. But  now  it  must  be  pointed  out  that  a  man  in 
following  his  best  insight  cannot  do  wrong,  but  on  the 
contrary  achieves  morality  in  very  large  measure.  In  fact^ 
two  propositions  are  here  involved :  that  conscientious 
action  is  moral  in  a  very  real  sense ;  and  that  action 
disapproved  by  the  agent's  conscience  is  immoral,  what- 
ever its  beneficial  results. 

Little  need  be  added  in  support  of  the  first  proposition. 
No  one,  it  is  safe  to  say,  would  deny  that  to  act  from  one's^ 
best  insight,  to  act  in  accordance  with  one's  conscience,  is 
to  act  morally,  with  reservation  always  of  what  one  has 
done  to  perfect  one's  conscience.  And  this  is  true, 
although  one  must  act  in  accordance  with  the  best  insight, 
in  accordance  with  the  wise  conscience,  if  action  is  to  be 
perfectly  moral. 


SUBJECTIVE   MORALITY  61 

But  a  difficulty,  or  rather  a  confusion,  is  likely  to  arise 
in  determining  what  acting  in  accordance  with  one's 
insight  or  conscience  means.  And,  first,  it  would  be  an 
error  to  understand  this  as  meaning  that  a  man  acts 
morally,  to  the  extent  claimed,  only  when  his  conscience 
expressly  approves  him.  Objections  to  demanding  that 
men  shall  scrutinize  all  their  actions  have  already  been 
mentioned,  and  more  will  appear  later.  Besides,  every 
man's  conscience  is  sensitive  to  proposed  wrong-doing,  and 
where  it  entirely  fails  to  oppose,  it  may  be  assumed  to 
approve  —  its  silence  is  its  consent.  All  that  is  meant  is, 
that  an  action  is  really,  even  where  imperfectly,  moral, 
either  when  conscience  approves,  or  when  conscience  does 
not  disapprove  it.  In  the  normal  man,  on  the  average, 
scarcely  an  action  a  day  has  the  explicit  approval  of  con- 
science, and  yet  most  of  these  actions  are  admittedly  moral. 
But  there  is  one  caution  that  all  insist  on  in  this  connec- 
tion :  an  undoubted  lowering  of  the  morality  of  the  act  is 
occasioned,  especially  if  it  turns  out  to  have  injurious  con- 
sequences, if  any  suspicion  of  its  morality,  if  any  adverse 
whisper  of  conscience,  is  disregarded. 

Again,  still  less  can  it  be  held,  with  Kant,  that  an  action 
is  not  moral  unless  it  is  performed  in  opposition  to  desire, 
and  solely  because  conscience  demands  it.  In  support  of 
his  position  Kant  says,  that  all  actions  performed  from 
inclination  or  desire  are  on  the  same  natural  or  non-moral 
level,  and  that  the  fact  that  some  of  them  happen  to  accord 
with  conscience  or  duty  is  accidental  to  them,  not  essential, 
and  cannot  therefore  raise  them  to  the  moral  level.  But 
the  facts  do  not  here  support  Kant.  Many  actions  univer- 
sally approved  and  regarded  as  moral,  patriotic  and  family 
service  for  instance,  are  generally  performed  largely  from 
inclination,  and  indeed  cannot  otherwise  be  performed  in 
fulness  and  with  finish  ;  if  done  merely  from  a  hard  sense 
of  duty  the  finishing  touches  that  render  them  acceptable 
are   lacking.      And   besides,   the   contention    involves   a 


52  ETHICS 

curious  inconsistency.  Actions  faithfully  performed  from 
a  sense  of  duty  soon  come  to  be  performed  with  inclination, 
whereupon  their  performance  is  doubly  assured.  And  it 
cannot  well  be  maintained  that,  though  moral  before,  as 
soon  as  that  double  assurance  is  secured  they,  and  their 
agents  in  performing  them,  cease  to  be  moral.  Again, 
Kant  intimates  that  actions  performed  from  inclination 
{e.g.  a  kind  act  motived  by  affection  for  the  beneficiary), 
give  no  evidence  of  the  morality  of  the  agent,  for  similar 
actions  (e.g.  another  kindness),  equally  obligatory,  may 
fail  of  performance  on  other  occasions  when  the  inclination 
is  absent.  But,  taking  a  particular  case,  though  spon- 
taneous beneficence  to  one  individual  may  not  insure 
beneficence  to  others  equally  entitled  to  it,  yet  it  does 
not  prevent  such  further  beneficence,  or  even  render  it 
unlikely,  and  it  certainly  does  give  large  assurance  that 
duty  will  be  fulfilled,  in  so  far  as  it  consists  in  benefac- 
tions to  the  individual  first  mentioned.  But  again  Kant 
suggests  that  morality  essentially  consists  in  self-control, 
i.e.  in  control  of  one's  natural  inclinations  and  impulses, 
which  are  in  fact  its  only  opponents,  and  that  there  is  con- 
sequently no  morality  where  self-control  is  not  exercised. 
But  even  Kant's  high  authority  cannot  here  avail.  No 
doubt  control  of  vicious  or  immoral  inclinations  is  moral, 
and  the  man  who  wins  the  victory  over  unworthy  passions 
is  entitled  to  all  praise.  But  it  does  not  follow  that  men 
with  passion  or  even  with  inclination  for  actions  prescribed 
by  duty  are  not  moral,  or  are  less  moral.  Kant  sees  one 
class  of  moral  actions  with  such  intensity  that  he  thinks  it 
the  only  class;  whereas  another  class  is  at  least  equally 
moral.  For,  looking  at  the  question  quite  generally,  of 
two  men  assumed  to  perform  the  same  dutiful  actions,  the 
one  against  his  inclinations  and  solely  by  dint  of  self -con- 
control,  and  the  other  from  free-flowing  natural  inclination, 
the  former  probably  would,  so  far  as  the  description  goes, 
be  considered  more  heroic,  and  as  likely  in  time  to  achieve 


SUBJECTIVE    MORALITY  58 

a  noble  morality,  but  the  latter  would  certainly  be  regarded 
as  being  moral,  as  being  in  fact  more  fully  and  securely 
moral.  Besides,  the  performance  of  some  actions  from 
inclination,  as  in  the  second  case,  in  no  wise  implies  that 
there  are  not  other  actions  performed  solely  for  duty's 
sake.  In  the  most  effectively  moral  men  a  division  of 
labour  obtains,  some  obligations  being  fulfilled  from 
inclination,  and  others  solely  or  chiefly  from  a  sense  of 
duty.  And,  comparing  the  two,  morality  is  more  complete 
in  the  first  case,  where  it  is  spontaneous  and  ingrained  in 
second  nature.  For  complete  morality  is  inspired  by  the 
emotions,  in  addition  to  being  guided  by  the  intellect,  and 
held  strong  by  the  will  —  the  law  must  be  discerned 
clearly,  and  firmly  obeyed,  but  love  is  its  fulfilment.  In 
order  to  be  moral  an  act  need  not  then  awaken  its  agent's 
aversion,  nor,  though  this  does  not  detract  from  it,  need 
it  secure  the  express  approval  of  his  conscience ;  but  if  it 
arouse  the  disapproval  of  his  conscience,  it  cannot  escape 
immorality.  In  short,  actions  are  genuinely  moral,  when 
conscience  does  not  so  much  as  intimate  disapproval,  when 
conscience  approves  them,  and  when  they  are  performed 
solely  for  conscience'  sake. 

Passing  to  the  second  proposition,  a  distinction  will  assist 
understanding  ;  for  an  action  disapproved  by  the  agent's 
conscience  may  either  in  fact  be  immoral,  or  may  be  mis- 
takenly disapproved,  being  the  action  called  for  under  the 
circumstances.  In  the  first  case  there  is  no  difficulty ;  an 
action  is  certainly  inynoral  if  its  agent  rightly  considers  it 
immoral.  The  only  debatable  part  of  the  second  proposi- 
tion may  accordingly  be  resolved  into  the  statement  that, 
even  though  an  act  accords  in  every  other  respect  with  the 
strictest  moral  requirements,  it  is  wrong  for  him  if  its  agent 
thinks  it  wrong.  In  other  words,  a  right  act  done  from 
a  motive  its  agent  thought  to  be  wrong  is  wrong.  After 
what  has  been  said  the  point  will  no  doubt  be  conceded. 
Conscientious  action  is  fundamental  for  morality,  and  there 


54  ETHICS 

is  no  surer  way  of  undermining  morality  at  its  base  than 
establishing  in  the  agent  the  habit  of  disregarding  his 
conscience  or  best  insight.  And  this  danger  is  present  in 
every  act  in  which  the  agent  is  conscious  of  the  moral  issue. 
For  every  act  of  the  kind  either  strengthens  or  weakens 
the  influence  of  conscience  over  the  agent,  makes  it  more 
or  makes  it  less  likely  that  in  the  future  he  will  follow  his 
best  insight.  It  goes  without  saying  that  the  preceding 
remarks  have  in  mind  well-assured  deliverances  of  con- 
sciences which  their  possessors  have  no  reason  to  suspect 
of  arrogance  or  dishonesty.  When  any  of  these  conditions 
do  not  exist,  when  consciences  are  not  assured,  when  they 
lack  due  modesty,  and  when  selfish  desires  or  mere  obsti- 
nacy are  known  to  masquerade  in  their  semblance,  their 
unfortunate  possessors  are  not  considered  immoral  for 
declining  to  follow  them  in  opposition  to  the  views  of  more 
reliable  moral  natures.  Many  further  distinctions  might 
be  made,  but  it  is  probable  that  they  would  confuse  rather 
than  clear  up  the  issue.  No  one  would  deny  that  when  a 
man's  conscience  is  in  no  doubt,  and  when  the  man  has  no 
distrust  of  his  conscience  to  stifle,  he  cannot  disregard  it 
without  acting  immorally,  and  proper  allowance  can  be 
made  in  cases  where  these  conditions  fail,  in  any  measure, 
of  fulfilment. 

Summing  up,  it  may  accordingly  be  said  that,  though 
Perceptional  Intuitionism  is  in  error  in  holding  that  every 
moral  perception  is  valid,  and  consequently  in  error  in  hold- 
ing that  action  in  accordance  with  conscience  is  fully  and 
adequately  moral,  yet  the  theory  is  largely  justified,  in- 
asmuch as  conscientious  action  is  genuinely  moral  and 
contra-conscientious  action  is  immoral. 

As  there  is  a  great  deal  more  to  be  said  about  conscien- 
tious action,  it  will  be  well  to  adopt  a  more  convenient 
name  for  it.  Subjective  morality  or  rightness  is  a  name 
sanctioned  by  the  usage  of  ethical  authorities,  and  signifi- 
cant as  indicating  the  actions  considered  right  by  the  con- 


SUBJECTIVE   MORALITY  65 

science  of  the  subject  or  agent.  Besides,  it  is  in  convenient 
antithesis  to  objective  morality  or  lightness,  the  body  of 
actions  vouched  for  as  moral  by  the  standard  or  wise  con- 
science. The  relation  of  the  two  will  be  easily  remembered 
if  we  bear  in  mind  that  every  action  that  is  moral  at  all 
is  subjectively  moral,  while  objectively  moral  actions  not 
only  follow  their  agent's  conscience,  but  also  command  the 
approval  of  the  wise  conscience,  to  which  in  such  cases 
the  agent's  conscience  conforms.  As  it  is  on  a  basis  of  a 
full  discussion  of  subjective  morality  that  the  more  diffi- 
cult task  of  understanding  objective  morality  can  best  be 
approached,  the  two  parts  of  the  former,  voluntary  action 
and  conscience,  will  be  considered  at  length  during  the 
remainder  of  Part  I.  Voluntary  action  is  well  treated  in 
works  on  psychology,  and  only  one  chapter  will  be  devoted 
to  it  here.  But  conscience  is  little  considered  by  psychol- 
ogists, and  there  will  be  need  for  chapters  on  its  nature, 
cause,  and  origin  and  development  both  in  the  child  and 
in  the  race.     Part  II  will  investigate  objective  morality. 

The  Term  ^^Cojiscience.^^  —  Usage  sanctions  two  employ- 
ments of  the  term  "conscience,"  and  a  few  words  are 
necessary  to  indicate  which  will  be  used  in  the  following 
discussion.  In  the  broader  meaning  conscience  denotes 
man's  moral  attitudes  towards  all  actions,  whether  they  be 
his  own  or  those  of  others ;  in  its  narrower  meaning  it 
denotes  the  individual's  attitudes  towards  his  own  actions. 
Among  learned  writers,  Martineau,  and  Elsenhaus  in  his 
recent  work,  hold  that  conscience  denotes  all  approvals 
and  disapprovals,  while  Wundt  and  Mackenzie  ^  may  be 
mentioned  as  declaring  for  the  narrower  meaning.  In 
such  a  case  of  divided  usage  choice  is  open,  and  conven- 
ience the  highest  test.  For  the  purposes  of  the  present 
book,  the  evident  convenience  of  having  one  word  to  desig- 
nate all  moral  attitudes  decides  for  the  broader  meaning. 

1  Indeed,  Mackenzie's  definition  is  narrower  still :  for  him  conscience 
includes  only  disapprwaU  uf  oiiu's  uwu  actions. 


CHAPTER  IV 

Voluntary  Action 

§  1.   The  Dynamic  Law 

Of  the  greatest  importance  for  the  understanding  of 
man's  active  nature  as  a  whole,  is  the  understanding  of 
what  Professor  Bain  calls  the  law  of  diffusion.  This  is 
Psychology's  law  of  causation,  and  it  is  not  without  sig- 
nificance that  its  statement  is  the  reverse  of  that  used  for 
the  popular  scientific  law  of  physical  causation,  as  Dr. 
Venn  has  termed  it.^  While  in  the  physical  world  it  is 
held  that  every  event  has  a  cause,  in  the  psychic  world 
the  basal  law  asserts  that  every  event  has  an  effect.^  By 
Professor  James  a  less  technical  form  of  statement  is 
adopted ;  ^  every  state  of  consciousness,  he  says,  is  motor. 
Now  this  means  essentially  that  the  presence  of  any 
state  in  consciousness  brings  about  some  change  in  the 
total  content,  over  and  above  its  own  appearance.  But  in 
one  respect  Professor  James's  statement  might  mislead,  for 
it  would  seem  that  the  change  need  not  always  be  motor, 
but  may  sometimes  be  preponderatingly,  or  even  exclu- 
sively, emotional  or  intellectual.  But  intellectual  and 
emotional  states  eventually  incite  movements,  and  so  it 
comes  to  much  the  same  thing ;  the  appearance  of  a  state 

1  Empirical  Logic,  Ch.  II. 

2  In  the  former  the  practical  interest  is  in  finding  a  sure  way  of  pro- 
ducing what  we  want,  in  the  latter,  in  discovering  what  man,  and  what 
peculiarity  of  his,  undoubtedly  produced  certain  results. 

»  i^ycA.,  Ch.  XXIIL 

56 


VOLUNTARY   ACTION  6T 

in  consciousness  initiates  a  movement,  or  affects  some  of 
those  under  way. 

§  2.     Man's  Lower  Activities 

AiUomatic  and  Reflex  Actions.  —  At  the  basis  of  man's 
distinctively  human  behaviour,  and  always  in  part  con- 
stitutive of  it,  lies  unconscious  movement,  or  at  least 
movement  unconscious  of  its  effects,  e.g.  the  ceaseless 
movements  of  the  restless  child,  characteristic  reactions  to 
heat  and  cold,  light  and  darkness,  etc.  In  this  new  field 
there  is  no  recognized  classification,  but  for  our  purposes 
it  will  be  convenient  to  divide  the  movements  mentioned 
into  automatic  and  reflex  ;  which  may  be  distinguished 
from  each  other  by  their  excitants.  Automatic  actions 
are  excited  by  internal  states,  having  their  seats  some- 
where in  the  body;  reflex  actions  are  excited  by  outer 
objects,  that  stimulate  one  or  more  of  the  special  sense 
organs.  The  bodily  states  which  arouse  the  former  some- 
times are  and  sometimes  are  not  represented  in  conscious- 
ness. It  is  probable  that  many  digestive  and  vascular 
changes  which  excite  reactions  are  themselves  unrepre- 
sented in  consciousness.  At  all  events  it  may  be  said  that 
many  of  man's  vegetative  functions  are  not  normally  par- 
alleled by  distinctly  apprehended  states  of  consciousness. 

On  the  other  hand,  reflex  actions  are  at  firet  aroused  by 
sensations  of  the  special  senses,  which,  as  mere  sensations, 
consist  in  unrecognized  elements  fused  with  the  total  con- 
tent of  consciousness.  But  these  interesting  sensations 
appear  repeatedly,  are  rich  in  benefit  and  injury,  and  so 
come  to  arouse  special  attention  and  to  be  perceived. 
Thereafter  it  is  the  perceived  object  that  stimulates  the 
reaction,  a  very  important  change.  Nevertheless  the 
capacity  for  deliberation  and  decision  does  not  yet  exist. 

Jdeo-motor  Action.  —  Tracing  the  development  of  reflex 
action  further,  gradually  the  reactions  excited  lead  to 
active  commerce  with  surrounding  objects,  and  thus  yield 


68  ETHICS 

experience  which  tends  to  survive  in  memory.  In  so  far 
as  memory  is  established,  the  experience  that  before  un- 
expectedly followed  the  reaction  is  later  on  foreseen  and 
expected  when  for  any  reason  the  impulse  appears ;  and, 
in  virtue  of  the  dynamic  character  of  all  mental  states, 
such  expectations  either  strengthen  or  weaken  the  im- 
pulse. In  some  cases,  of  coui-se,  it  is  not  the  impulse  that 
awakens  the  expectation,  but  rather  the  idea  of  possible 
absent  experiences,  suggested  by  association,  that  awakens 
the  impulse.  When  such  an  idea,  alone  or  assisted  by 
a  perception  or  sensation,  instead  of  a  perception  or  sen- 
sation unaccompanied  by  any  idea,  is  what  stimulates  to 
action,  the  performance  is  called  ideo-motor.  The  child 
that  seeks  its  mother  for  comfort  when  it  is  hurt,  gives 
a  good  example  of  ideo-motor  action.  At  this  stage  the 
agent  foresees  what  will  happen,  but  he  is  not  yet  respon- 
sible for  it,  for  he  has  as  yet  no  control  over  his  action. 

Deliberation.  —  Here  it  is  that  deliberation  appears.  Re- 
call again  that  each  action,  by  changing  his  surroundings, 
will  bring  in  many  experiences  to  the  agent,  at  least  some  of 
which  he  can  now  foresee,  when  the  action  is  contemplated. 
Moreover,  each  foreseen  experience  is  a  dynamic  idea,  that 
strengthens  or  weakens  the  original  impulse,  and  that  may, 
in  the  latter  case,  arouse  another  impulse  that  blocks  the 
first  — if  one  is  carried  out,  the  other  cannot  be.  Thereupon 
deliberation  is  initiated,  and  the  consequences  of  each  course 
begin  to  spread  out  before  the  view.  Seeing  some  meat,  a 
bear  is  tempted  to  approach  and  seize  it.  But  there  is  also 
the  smell  of  man  and  of  steel,  and  they  bring  up  pictures 
of  struggles,  terror,  and  sharp  pains.  Still  the  smell  of  the 
meat  is  delicious,  making  the  bear's  mouth  water  and  his 
fangs  drip.  Besides,  no  steel  is  visible,  and  no  man  in 
sight.  And  so  the  bear  approaches.  But  as  he  does  so  the 
steel  and  man  smells  increase,  the  horrible  pictures  become 
more  vivid,  and  panic  and  flight  may  ensue.  And  so  in  a 
simple  case  impulse  suggests  idea,  idea  suggests  counter 


VOLUNTARY  ACTION  59 

impulse,  each  impulse  with  its  attendant  ideas  rallies  its 
followers,  and  deliberation  is  under  way.  Widely  as  they 
differ  in  importance,  all  deliberations  are  of  this  same  kind,* 
marshalling  the  rival  arrays  of  consequences,  till  in  man 
the  fate  of  countless  numbers  may  be  held  in  the  balance 
of  these  delicately  wrought  ideal  scales. 

§  3.     Voluntary  Action 

Voluntary  action  first  appears  with  effort  and  consent, 
which  give  the  sense  of  control,  and  are  the  most  signifi- 
cantly if  not  the  most  powerfully  dynamic  of  psychic  states. 
This  is  not  the  place  to  describe  them  as  facts  of  conscious- 
ness, nor  to  discuss  their  relations  to  physiological  condi- 
tions. Both  questions  are  still  under  active  discussion  by 
psychologists.  But  effort  and  consent  undoubtedly  exist, 
and  they  are  decisively  effective  in  determining  action. 
Whenever  an  action  is  willed,  effort  is  present ;  whenever 
an  action  is  done  willingly,  consent  is  more  or  less  dis- 
tinctly felt.  Consent  is  strongly  felt  when  a  natural  im- 
pulse, backed  by  the  bodily  self  (see  the  next  section),  and 
usually  opposed  by  another  impulse,  is  allowed  to  find  its 
way  into  action,  notwithstanding  the  sense  that  it  could  be 
restrained.  In  order  to  consent,  at  least  the  felt  possibility 
of  restraining  the  natural  impulse  must  be  experienced. 
So  much  a  very  slight  exercise  of  introspection  will  make 
plain.  The  rSle  of  effort  accordingly  is  to  come  to  the 
support  of  a  weaker  impulse,  and  either  to  overbear  its 
naturally  stronger  opponent  by  its  own  dynamic  force  as 
a  fact  of  consciousness,  or  else  merely  to  hold  it  in  check 
until  the  weaker  impulse  gains  time  to  rally  other  con- 
siderations to  its  assistance.  Consent,  on  the  other  hand, 
is  either  the  cessation  of  effort,  or  at  least  includes  the 
sense  that  effort  could  be  put  forth  and  control  exercised, 
and  thus  its  presence  indicates  either  that  control  was  ex< 

1  In  human  deliberation  the  ideas  are  consciously  repreaentative,  in  ani- 
mal deliberation  they  are  not.     Vide  Ch.  VIII,  §  2. 


60  ETHICS 

ercised,  or  that  it  might  have  been.  Both,  therefore,  indi- 
cate the  possibility  of  deliberation,  and  the  ability  of  the 
self  as  a  whole  to  focus  itself  upon  and  control  the  action 
contemplated,  as  was  seen  in  previous  chaptei-s.  This,  it 
will  be  remembered,  is  what  justifies  holding  men  responsi- 
ble for  their  voluntary  actions,  and  for  them  alone.  With- 
out effort  and  consent  genuine  decision  is  impossible. 

The  great  complexity  of  man's  nature  is  due  to  the 
countless  number  of  his  motor  tendencies,  aroused  by  all 
the  innumerable  internal  and  external  conditions  that  af- 
fect his  consciousness.  Moreover,  the  different  impulses 
further  and  oppose  one  another  most  intricately,  and  far 
from  being  isolated  facts,  are  associated  in  a  complicated 
hierarchy  of  larger  and  smaller  groups,  which  in  turn  act 
as  units  more  or  less  firmly  compacted.  The  body  of  im- 
pulses present  in  any  one  can  appropriately  be  likened 
to  a  modern  army,  governed  throughout  in  all  important 
movements  by  one  supreme  head  —  analogous  to  the  self 
in  effort  and  consent — in  spite  of  the  complicated  sub- 
division into  corps,  brigades,  regiments,  companies,  and 
individuals,  capable  at  times  of  acting  with  an  indepen- 
dence that  amounts  to  insubordination. 

§  4.     Motor  Efficiency  of  Sensational  Components 

From  what  precedes  it  will  be  clear  that  sensations^ 
perceptions,  and  ideas  all  arouse  tendencies  to  action.  Of 
perceptions  and  ideas  nothing  more  need  be  said  at  pres- 
ent. But  sensations  differ  so  in  kind  and  importance, 
that  they  must  be  further  considered.  Three  kinds  may 
be  singled  out  for  mention :  emotions,  the  feeling  of  effort,^ 
and  the  undifferentiated  mass  of  cenesthetic  sensations. 
Emotions,  as  we  now  know,  consist,  in  large  part  at  least, 
of  massive  and  fairly  definite  groups  of  organic  sensations, 
aroused,  as  the  word  indicates,  by  changing  states  of  the 
inner  organs  of  the  body  (e.g.  of  the  heart  and  respira- 
tory  organs).     Such   groups   are   often   associated   with 


VOLUNTARY  ACTION  61 

perceptions  and  ideas,  and  then  by  their  intensity  and 
mass  they  lend  the  latter  a  large  increment  of  energy 
incitive  of  action.  It  may  well  be  doubted  whether  ideas, 
with  their  small  intensity,  would  ever  lead  to  action  in 
opposition  to  intense  present  stimulation,  were  it  not  for 
the  assistance  of  the  emotions.  No  doubt  in  adults  ideas 
may  lead  to  action  even  when  unassisted  by  emotions,  but 
this  is  due  to  the  strength  of  the  habitual  bond  between 
the  ideas  and  the  actions,  and  it  seems  improbable  that 
such  a  bond  should  have  been  formed  without  the  assist- 
ance of  the  emotions.  The  motor  power  of  feelings  is 
well  known,  and  this  knowledge  it  is  that  the  -orator  puts 
to  such  skilful  use  in  his  powerful  appeals. 

Effort.  —  But  most  important  among  man's  organized 
groups  of  common  sensations  is  the  feeling  of  effort, 
which  is  made  up  in  part  of  sensations  of  movement  and 
in  part  of  cenesthetic  sensations,  as  will  appear  in  Chap- 
ter VIII,  §  2.  And  its  importance  is  due  partly,  as  has 
been  suggested,  to  its  decisiveness,  to  the  fact  that  it  holds 
the  balance  of  power,  and  partly  to  its  association  with 
ideas  and  convictions,  as  distinguished  from  vague  feelings 
and  untested  opinions.  Of  course,  in  itself  considered,  the 
feeling  of  effort  is  by  no  means  as  massive  as  some  feel- 
ings, e.g.  rage  or  love,  and  by  no  means  as  intense  as  others, 
e.g.  curiosity  or  pain,  and  were  it  not  for  its  advantage 
of  position,  its  dynamic  efficacy  would  be  negligible.  But 
in  its  role  as  arbiter  between  well-balanced  and  mutually 
opposed  inclinations,  effort  generally  finds  itself  supported 
by  other  feelings,  which  lend  to  it  a  mass  and  intensity 
that,  added  to  its  own,  frequently  enables  it  to  gain  the 
ascendency.  Nor  should  it  be  supposed  that  effort  takes 
sides,  so  to  speak,  at  random  and  without  plan.  For,  in 
fact,  effort,  for  reasons  imperfectly  understood,  is  normally 
on  the  planful  or  ideal  side,  on  the  side  of  conviction  as 
against  mere  impulse.  At  least,  it  is  on  this  seemingly 
reasonable  side  in  so  far  as  it  appears  at  all.     A  man  does 


62  ETHICS 

not  put  forth  effort  to  encourage  his  unreflective  impulses, 
but  so  far  as  he  tries,  he  tries  to  curb  them.  Effort  is 
accordingly  the  decisive  force  that  makes  for  reasonable 
and  convinced  action,  and  as  decisive  it  is  powerful,  while 
as  making  for  reason  it  is  very  significant.  Otherwise 
put,  effort  supports  the  reasonable  self  as  against  the 
unreflective  inclinations  over  which  the  latter  undertakes 
to  rule,  and  in  that  role  it  may  well  be  likened  to  the 
police  force  that  maintains  the  authority  of  the  govern- 
ment over  individual  subjects  or  private  associations. 
Moreover,  like  the  police  force,  it  is  effective  only  if 
loyal  subordinates  are,  at  the  worst,  little  short  of  a 
majority. 

The  Bodily  Self.  —  Very  nearly  as  important  as  effort 
are  the  inclinations  over  which  it  rules,  and  which,  so  far  as 
they  rest  on  sensations,  constitute  the  bodily  self.  There 
is  much  about  the  self  that  baffles  psychology,  but  on  one 
point  at  least  the  authorities  are  in  agreement ;  the  ever 
present  mass  of  undifferentiated  bodily  sensations  are  a 
fundamental,  if  partial,  constituent  of  the  self.  For  the 
evidence  supporting  this  statement,  the  reader  must  be 
referred  to  special  works.^  Most  of  the  evidence  is  taken 
from  observations  of  the  diseased  sense  of  self,  and  is 
generally  admitted  conclusively  to  establish  the  fact  that 
the  bodily  self  is  made  up  of  cenesthetic  sensations. 

Temperament  and  disposition,  also  humour  and  mood, 
are  familiar  names  for  the  bodily  self,  looked  at  as  a  more 
or  less  permanent  entity,  and  every  one  is  familiar  with 
the  influence  of  these  aspects  of  the  self  over  conduct.  A 
man  is  alert  or  inert,  nervous  and  timid  or  firm  and  steady, 
blue,  despondent,  downcast,  or  happy,  hopeful,  and  enter- 
prising ;  now  his  one  prompting  is  for  open  air  and  exer- 
cise, later  a  cosey  chair  and  a  book  suit  his  mood,  and 

1  Vide  Ribot,  Diseases  of  Personality,  and  for  an  important  recent 
correction  of  Ribot,  Royce,  "  Some  Anomalies  of  Self -consciousness," 
P»ch.  Bev.,  Vol.  II,  No.  V. 


VOLUNTARY   ACTION  68 

again  the  excitement  of  some  political  or  other  gathering 
and  the  thick  of  the  fight  will  alone  satisfy  him.  At  all 
times  his  bodily  self  is  present  in  one  mood  or  another, 
and  is  there  strongly  to  urge  its  momentary  claim. 

Broadly  speaking,  the  influence  of  the  bodily  self  on  the 
individual's  actions  may  be  likened  to  the  influence  of  the 
body  of  the  people  on  governmental  action.  Normally 
the  national  decision  is  voiced  by  the  officers  of  govern- 
ment, but  this  decision  rests  on  and  is  significantly  in- 
fluenced by  the  temper  of  the  people ;  partly  because  the 
leaders,  being  of  the  same  stock,  share  the  deeper-lying 
popular  will,  and  partly  because  the  latter  imposes  on 
them  with  a  well-nigh  hypnotic  irresistibleness.  In  an 
individual  the  situation  is  strikingly  similar.  An  in- 
telligent will  that  is  persistent  can  always  eventually 
achieve  mastery  over  the  blind  natural  inclinations,  but 
this  sovereignty,  too,  rests  on  the  consent  of  the  governed. 
Unless  our  moods  and  appetites  themselves  are  taught  to 
aim  high,  they  will  constantly  elude  or  overreach  the  will 
—  a  parallel  to  the  political  truth  that  the  strength  of  a 
democracy  depends  upon  the  character  and  enlightenment 
of  the  people.  As  the  people,  when  united,  can  drive  the 
officials  by  their  bodily  mass,  or  by  weight  of  inertia 
hold  them  back,  so  the  temperamental  inclinations  can, 
when  in  mutual  accord,  drive  the  reason,  hold  it  in  check, 
and  in  general  warp  it  to  their  own  will.  When  the 
concord  among  subordinates  is  less  perfect,  the  leaders, 
in  the  individual  and  in  the  nation,  often  have  their  will ; 
either  by  interposing  delay  to  give  opportunity  for  sober 
second  thought  to  gain  converts  and  swell  the  minority 
into  a  majority,  or,  occasionally,  by  the  "  slow  dead  heave 
of  the  will,"  as  Professor  James  vividly  descrilies  it,  and 
its  political  correspondent,  a  strong,  coercive  government. 
But  normally,  in  healthy  states  and  men,  either  there  is 
harmony  between  controlling  and  controlled,  or  else  the 
body  politic  or  human  is  divided  against  itself  with  ap- 


64  ETHICS 

proximate  evenness,  at  least  a  respectable  minority  rally- 
ing to  the  support  of  the  rulers,  and  thus  giving  them 
decisive  power.  And  all  this  shows  that,  whether  to  be 
controlled  by  the  will,  or  as  lending  its  powerful  support, 
the  bodily  self  is  always  a  mighty  force.  On  this  dark, 
blind  background  stand  out  the  emotions,  impulses,  per- 
ceptions, and  ideas  already  mentioned,  rising  step  by  step 
in  clear-cut  distinctness  and  intelligence. 

It  might  be  inferred  from  what  precedes  that  the  power 
of  psychic  states  over  actions  depends  merely  on  the 
intensity  and  mass  of  the  states  in  question.  But,  pend- 
ing a  fuller  discussion  in  Chapter  XV,  it  should  be  men- 
tioned that  the  quality  of  the  states  and  the  closeness 
of  their  temperamental  and  habitual  connection  with  the 
actions  involved  are  at  least  equally  influential  factors. 
In  addition  to  intensity,  duration,  and  mass,  every  psychic 
state  has  quality,  and,  moreover,  is  connected  more  or  less 
closely,  because  of  the  inborn  temperament  of  the  individ- 
ual and  because  of  his  character,  with  every  tendency  to 
action  that  appears.  And,  if  anything,  quality,  tempera- 
ment, and  habit  have  even  more  to  do  with  the  influence 
of  a  state  over  action  than  intensity  and  mass  have. 

§  5.     Ends  of  Action  and  Interests 

It  has  already  appeared  that  sensations,  perceptions,  and 
ideas  all  stimulate  to  activity,  and  in  the  last  section  the 
dynamic  power  of  sensations  was  discussed,  while  in  ear- 
lier sections  the  role  of  perceptions  was  sufficiently  con- 
sidered. The  purpose  of  the  present  section  is  to  discuss 
ideas  in  their  relation  to  actions.  There  are  many  things 
of  which  men  think,  and  the  question  is.  Which  of  these 
things,  when  thought  of,  stir  to  action  ?  Or,  since  fore- 
seen ideas  that  stimulate  to  action  are  called  ends,  aims, 
or  interests,  the  problem  to  be  solved  is.  What  are  the 
ends,  aims,  or  interests  of  man?  The  purpose  here  la 
not  so  much  to  discover  the  relative  dynamic  efficiency  of 


VOLUNTARY  ACTION  55 

ideas,  as  to  work  out  a  helpful  classification  of  the  piiuci- 
pal  aims  that  call  out  the  activity  of  man. 

When  we  consider  the  number  of  men,  the  number  of 
actions  each  performs,  many  of  which  hold  several  objects 
in  view,  and  when  we  further  consider  the  literal  infinity 
of  detail  in  every  achieved  end,  it  becomes  evident  that  it 
is  impossible  to  give  a  concrete  account  of  aims  or  ends. 
We  must  be  content,  as  science  always  is  perforce,  with 
giving  a  sufficient  account  of  their  most  important  kinds. 
And  in  fact,  the  discussion  will  consider  only  groups  of 
ends  so  important  that  each  contains  objects  every  man 
strives  to  attain.  Such  ends  may  be  called  interests,  or 
more  precisely,  human  interests,  to  indicate  that  their 
hold  is  universal  over  men. 

As  Professor  Dewey  well  points  out,^  men  are  inter- 
ested both  in  persons  and  in  things,  and  are  concerned  to 
alter  them  or  their  fate  in  various  ways.  The  idea  of 
your  friend,  John  Smith,  thinking  this,  being  that,  or  hav- 
ing the  other  may  be  attractive  to  you,  and  then  you  will 
be  interested  in  realizing  the  idea.  And  so  it  is,  allowing 
for  obvious  differences,  with  the  thought  of  the  plot  of 
land  you  own,  of  the  view  from  your  front  door,  of  the 
decorations  on  your  walls,  and  of  the  church  to  which  you 
belong.  Speaking  generally,  for  the  subject  will  be  more 
fully  discussed  in  Chapter  XV,  men  are  interested  in  per- 
sons, in  quasi-persons,  —  a  term  to  be  defined  presently, 
—  and  in  things,  some  of  the  important  examples  under 
these  classes  being  one's  self,  one's  associates,  one's  coun- 
try, church,  occupation,  or  calling.  When  the  idea  of  a 
satisfactory  state  or  fate  for  any  of  these  objects  of  inter- 
est appears,  it  easily  stimulates  to  activity.  But,  since  for 
Ethics  interest  in  persons  and  quasi  persons  is  more 
important  than  interest  in  things,  for  reasons  that  will 
appear  in  Chapter  VI,  only  the  former  interests  will  be 
here  discussed. 

•  Outlines  of  Ethics,  XXXIV, 


66  ETHICS 

Interest  in  Self.  —  Most  prominent  and  easily  recognized 
is  the  interest  in  self.  Each  man  would  like  to  remain 
many  things  that  he  is,  to  become  many  things  that  he  is 
not,  and  to  possess  many  things  that  he  has  not.  Hedo- 
nists say  that  man's  only  interest  is  in  getting  pleasure. 
But  this  is  an  exploded  error.  A  young  man's  idea  of 
enjoying  the  office  of  governor,  or  of  enjoying  the  position 
of  a  prominent  attorney,  is,  no  doubt,  very  interesting. 
But  the  thought  of  being  governor,  or  of  being  a  promi- 
nent attorney,  in  itself  and  aside  from  any  thought  of  the 
pleasure  to  be  derived  from  the  position  when  attained,  is 
at  least  equally  interesting  and  incitive  of  action  towards 
its  attainment.  Every  one  wants  to  be  some  particular 
kind  of  man,  some  particular  kind  of  self,  and  is  more 
interested  in  the  kind  of  man  he  is  than  in  the  kind  of 
experience  he  has.  The  point  is  not  that  there  is  no 
interest  in  getting  pleasure  —  though  there  is  even  more 
interest  in  being  a  satisfactory  kind  of  pleasure-getter,  for 
there  are  kinds  of  pleasure-getting  that  make  a  kind  of 
man  unsatisfactory  to  think  about.  The  point  is,  that  the 
main  interest  is  in  the  kind  of  man  one  is.  One  wants  to 
be,  among  other  things,  a  man  of  education  and  culture, 
of  social  tact,  of  practical  business  capacity,  a  man  of 
satisfactory  achievements  and  capacities,  and  with  a  satis- 
factory station  or  place  in  the  world.  These  are  among 
man's  ambitions  for  himself,  and,  in  general,  a  man's  in- 
terest in  self  is  chiefly  interest  in  being  a  man  of  a  satis- 
factory type. 

Interest  in  Other  Persons.  — At  onetime  it  was  held  that 
interest  in  self  is  the  only  direct  interest,  while  interest  in 
others  is  merely  indirect,  or  for  the  sake  of  what  they  can  do 
for  the  interested  individual.  But  that  view  is  mistaken 
and  is  no  longer  held  by  the  well-informed.  At  the  out- 
set much  confusion  will  be  avoided  by  realizing  that  inter- 
est in  others  does  not  offer  any  logical  or  psychological 
impossibilities,  though  associationists  have  assumed  that 


VOLUNTARY  ACTION  67 

it  do€8.  It  is  not  true  that  because  I  am  the  one  having- 
the  interest,  therefore  the  interest  must  be  in  myself.  In- 
terest is  merely  a  feeling,  and  there  is  no  a  priori  reason 
for  its  attiichment  to  this  object  rather  than  to  that ;  ob- 
servation alone  can  show  the  objects  to  which  interest 
attaches. 

Even  among  animals  sympathy  with  and  interest  in 
others  exists.  Among  higher  animals  parental  affection 
is  very  strong,  and  among  gregarious  animals  instances 
of  mutual  affection  and  aid  between  individuals  of  differ- 
ent families  may  often  be  observed.  And  among  men, 
mother's  and  father's  love,  friendship,  neighbourliness,  and 
other  forms  of  friendly  feeling  grow  in  strength  in  pro- 
portion as  advance  is  made  beyond  the  stage  of  savagery. 
These  facts  lie  on  the  surface,  and  can  be  overlooked  only 
when  the  observer  is  blinded  by  some  preconceived  theory 
like  that  of  the  associationists.^ 

And  looking  at  the  question  from  the  evolutionary  point 
of  view,  and  remembering  that  interest  in  an  object  means 
commerce  with  and  fostering  of  that  object,  the  reason  for 
the  presence  of  the  feelings  mentioned  is  not  difficult  to 
find.  For  only  those  animals  can  survive  that  have  inter- 
est in,  i.e.  that  have  commerce  with  and  that  foster,  the 
objects  it  is  to  their  advantage  so  to  treat.  And,  in  the 
first  place,  species  are  strong  only  if  each  individual  fos- 
ters and  cares  for  himself,  since  each  can,  on  the  whole, 
do  this  much  better  than  any  one  else  can.  But,  in  the 
second  place,  where  all  are  dependent  on  society  and  on 
the  welfare  of  others  for  their  own  welfare,  as  is  the  case 
among  gregarious  animals  and  men,  it  is  aLso  to  the  inter- 
est of  all  to  foster  others.  It  is  to  the  interest  of  grega- 
rious animals  to  belong  to  societies  made  up  of  strong 
individuals,  but  it  is  also  to  their  interest  to  belong  to 
strong  societies.  And  societies  can  be  strong  only  when 
there  is  mutual  interest  and  aid  among  their  members. 

» cf.  ch.  xn,  s  8. 


68  ETHICS 

In  short,  where  there  is  no  mutual  interest  and  aid,  or 
where  either  is  insufficient,  gregarious  societies  and  their 
members  perish.  And  where  these  societies  survive,  and 
especially  where  they  prosper,  mutual  interest  and  aid 
must  be  present  as  prominent  factors.^ 

Finally,  to  be  swayed  by  interest  in  others  is  to  desire 
for  them  much  what  one  desires  for  one's  self,  e.g.  educa- 
tion, capacity,  a  competency,  etc. 

Quasi-persons  and  Interest  in  them. — There  are  things 
that  awaken  in  men  much  the  same  interest  that  persons 
do,  and  as  such  things  are  always  personified,  i.e.  thought 
of  as  persons,  it  will  be  convenient  to  call  them  quasi- 
persons.  We  will  first  discuss  the  practice  of  personifica- 
tion, which  is  more  common  than  is  generally  supposed, 
and  will  then  consider  briefly  man's  interest  in  quasi- 
persons. 

Much  the  most  natural  course  is  to  personify  all  objects 
about  us.  The  world  of  the  savage  teems,  as  he  thinks, 
with  conscious  beings.  Fetichism,  totemism,  in  general, 
animism,  constitutes  his  philosophy.  His  spear,  his  bow 
and  arrow,  his  stone  or  bronze  kettle,  the  spring  from 
which  he  fills  it,  every  tree  and  the  rainstorms  that  sweep 
over  it,  the  heavens,  and  the  sun  itself  —  all  are  persons 
to  him,  just  as  real  and  human,  though  in  some  cases  many 
times  as  powerful,  as  his  fellow-tribesmen.  The  progress 
of  man  towards  civilization  might  be  measured  by  the 
process  of  depersonification,  during  which  he  strips  one 
object  after  another  of  the  masks  and  trappings  of  hu- 
manity with  which  his  ancestors  clothed  them,  and  calcu- 
latingly scrutinizes  their  simple  thinghood  to  discern  the 
best  uses  to  which  he  can  put  them. 

1  Cf .  Ch.  Vni,  §  5,  discussion  of  individual  welfare,  Ch.  XII,  §  3,  and 
Ch.  XV.  As  will  appear  at  the  points  refered  to,  interest  in  self  and  in 
other  selves  is  possible  to  man  only.  But  animals  have  interest  in  each 
other,  if  not  in  each  other  as  selves,  and  nothing  would  be  gained  by 
complicating  the  present  problem  by  premature  explanations. 


VOLUNTARY   ACTION  69 

But  the  civilized  child  of  to-day  has  not  departed  any 
great  distance  from  the  practice  of  his  savage  ancestors 
in  respect  to  personification.  He  cannot  but  punish  the 
offending  doll  or  other  toy  that  hurt  him.  In  the  school- 
boy his  debating  society  or  baseball  nine  awakens  interest, 
responsibility,  even  the  sense  of  obligation,  especially  if 
he  has  taken  active  part  in  maintaining  it,  and  if  aptitude 
renders  the  part  congenial.  And  at  college  it  is  not  only 
athletic  organizations,  but  the  fraternity,  political,  and 
other  humane  associations,  and  Alma  Mater  herself,  that 
a  generous  enthusiasm  endows  with  personal  attributes. 

And  men  are  but  children  of  a  larger  growth.  The 
soldier  thinks  of  his  regiment  in  personal  terms,  attribut- 
ing to  it  such  qualities  as  honour,  dash,  steadiness,  and 
even  pride  in  his  prowess  and  shame  if  he  prove  a  coward. 
The  party  man  believes  in  "  the  grand  old  party  of  moral 
ideas,"  and  suspects  the  motives  of  its  opponents.  And 
"  Mother  Church  "  of  the  crusaders'  time  held  the  enthusi- 
astic devotion  of  men  who,  if  living  to-day,  would  probably 
but  indifferently  regard  her  unpersonified  successors. 

In  short,  anything  capable  of  growth  and  decay,  and  in 
which  either  can  be  fostered  or  retarded  by  the  individual, 
is  likely  to  arouse  his  interest.  Nor  is  the  reason  for  this 
far  to  find.  Even  after  man  has  learned  that  things  are 
not  persons,  things  that  grow  interest  him.  Whatever 
grows  has  a  future  of  possibilities,  has,  to  use  a  hackneyed 
but  expressive  phrase,  a  manifest  destiny,  to  which  it  may 
more  or  less  successfully  attain.  Foreseeing  this  destiny, 
anxious  that  defeat  should  not  prevent  its  being  com- 
passed, it  is  but  a  step  for  the  individual,  too  absorbed 
to  reflect,  to  read  purpose  into  prospect,  and  to  attribute 
determination  to  succeed  and  some  capacity  and  standard 
in  the  selection  of  means,  where,  no  doubt,  none  of  these 
personal  qualities  exist. 

Where  the  interesting  growth  is  a  body  of  men  or- 
.ganized  for  some  definite  purpose,  the  situation  forces  one 


70  ETHICS 

even  more  strongly  into  personification.  At  the  head  of 
such  an  organization  there  always  stands  a  man,  who 
seeks  to  realize  its  purposes  and  to  maintain  its  ideals  of 
method,  so  that  the  entire  body  acts  as  an  intelligently 
guided  whole,  with  a  character  more  definite  than  many 
persons  have.  One  college  society  will  have  none  but 
gentlemen,  another  prides  itself  on  its  goodfellowship,  a 
third  has  its  eye  open  for  students  of  high  standing. 
What  the  others  stand  for  is  indifferent  to  each,  but  deny 
the  attainment  of  what  each  has  undertaken  to  do,  and 
a  pride  similar  to  that  aroused  by  personal  accusation  is 
stirred  in  defence.  To  be  sure,  one  head  of  an  organiza- 
tion gives  way  to  another,  and  in  young  and  unsettled 
bodies  this  may  give  rise  to  a  chaotic  conflict  of  purposes 
that  closely  simulates  individual  insanit)^  But  this  can- 
not last  long,  for  every  vital  organization  soon  accu- 
mulates a  well-established  body  of  objects  of  desire,  of 
indifference,  and  of  aversion,  and  a  code  of  practices  that 
custom  and,  later,  tradition  demands  shall  be  done  and  left 
undone.  Then  even  leaders  are  bound,  sometimes  with 
appalling  strictness,  by  organic  demands,  and  the  origi- 
nality allowed  them  is  within  prescribed  limits.  Thus 
to  say  that  the  organization  has  found  its  will  and  knows 
its  own  mind,  if  psychologically  inaccurate,  is  practically 
descriptive ;  and  so  the  practical  man  in  fact  conceives 
the  situation.  Nor  is  it  surprising  that  an  organism  with 
a  will  and  a  mind  should  awaken  in  him  interests  similar 
to  those  aroused  by  persons  themselves.^ 

Neither  will  space  allow,  nor  does  necessity  demand,  a 
detailed  account  of  quasi-persons  and  of  the  interest  they 
arouse.     The  most  important  among  them  are  the  State, 

1  Hegel  and  his  followers  maintain  that  some  human  institutions,  e.g. 
the  family  and  the  State,  are  in  fact  persons,  and  more  than  might  be  sus- 
pected offhand  can  be  said  for  this  view.  Here  no  position  is  taken  on 
that  metaphysical  question.  We  are  concerned  only  with  the  fact  that 
man  does,  rightly  or  wrongly,  conceive  many  things  in  personal  terms. 


VOLUNTARY   ACTION  71 

the  Church,  the  family,  and  business  or  professional  estab- 
lishments. Besides  these  there  are  many  minor  quasi- 
persons.  But  not  all  the  major  quasi-persons  can  be  de- 
scribed here,  and  a  short  account  of  interest  in  the  family 
must  serve  to  suggest  the  genuine  interest  in  other  quasi- 
persons. 

The  range  of  individuals  regarded  as  belonging  to  his 
family  may  differ  widely  from  a  man  to  his  neighbour. 
Some  families  include  those  who  are  not  related  by  blood, 
and  all  families,  even  Scotch  clans,  exclude  many  that  are. 
It  is  not  so  much  a  matter  of  blood  as  of  life  and  ideals 
in  common.  And  whoever  the  individual  members  are 
for  any  man,  there  are  always  some  things  he  is  concerned 
that  members  of  his  family,  including  himself,  should, 
as  such,  be,  do,  enjoy,  and  escape.  What  these  interests 
are,  of  course,  varies  widely.  A  style  of  living  and  de- 
portment that  satisfies  a  family  in  a  mining  camp  would, 
if  practised  by  any  member  in  a  large  city,  seriously  dis- 
concert the  rest.  A  family  which  through  generations 
has  numbered  eminent  scholars,  professional  men,  and 
statesmen  among  its  members  will  make  all  endeavour  to 
guide  the  latest  generation  along  the  same  paths,  and  will 
be  much  distressed  if  any  forsake  them  for  less  dignified 
callings,  e.g.  if  one  becomes  a  pawnbroker  or  a  saloon- 
keeper. But  not  all  family  members  are  equally  docile 
and  sympathetic  in  deference  to  and  in  understanding  of 
public  opinion  and  family  tradition.  These  forces  can  do 
no  more  than  guide  the  individual  in  the  formation  of  the 
idea  of  family  practices  that  most  strongly  appeals  to  him. 
A  young  man  may,  almost  unknown  to  himself,  wish  that 
his  family  were  rich  and  powerful,  rather  than  poor  and 
scrupulously  honest ;  and  if  the  wish  is  harboured  it  may 
grow  into  an  interest.  Another  may  wish  that,  instead 
of  having  erratic  genius,  his  family  possessed  homely  com- 
mon sense ;  and  to  the  family  store  of  the  latter  he  may 
add  if  he  perseveres.     The  spontaneous  interests  of  the 


72  ETHICS 

individual,  family  tradition,  and  public  opinion,  together 
determine  what  any  one  desires  for  his  family. 

Again,  some  conditions  are  especially  potent  in  deepen- 
ing the  family  consciousness.  It  is  likely  to  be  strong, 
when  an  impressive  ancestry  have  established  the  family 
reputation ;  when  an  individual  by  his  personal  force  has 
practically  founded  a  family,  interest  in  his  handiwork 
here  reenforcing  his  normal  interest  in  family;  where 
society  is  organized  into  hereditary  classes,  when  all 
social  intercourse  makes  constant  appeal  to  family  feel- 
ing ;  and  even  so  seemingly  unimportant  a  possession 
as  a  family  portrait  gallery  may  strengthen  and  render 
specific  family  interests,  by  giving  embodiment  to  family 
character.  It  is  not,  however,  of  such  extreme  cases  that 
we  chiefly  speak.  The  point  is,  that  every  man  has  some 
interest  in  family,  and  that,  however  limited  it  be,  it  is 
quite  as  spontaneous  as  any  interest  he  feels  in  himself. 
And  in  all  this  it  is  plain  to  see  that  one's  family  is  nat- 
urally thought  of  as  a  person,  capable  of  desires  and  aver- 
sions, of  opinions  adverse  and  favourable,  of  achievements 
and  failures,  and  it  is  this  personification  that  permits 
the  same  kind  of  interest  to  be  taken  in  the  family  and 
other  human  institutions  that  is  taken  in  one's  self  and  in 
other  persons. 

§  5.     Summary 

The  purpose  of  this  chapter  has  been  to  give  an 
account  of  voluntary  action,  which,  joined  to  conscience, 
constitutes  moral  phenomena.  Its  setting  in  and  rise 
out  of  man's  lower  activities  has  been  sketched,  and 
its  makeup  has  been  analyzed,  by  showing  its  specific 
characteristics,  the  motor  potency  of  the  various  elements 
out  of  which  it  is  composed,  and  the  character  of  the 
aims,  objects,  or  ends  that  call  it  forth.  Much  specifi- 
cation has  been  omitted,  for  the  inquiry  has  been  con- 
ducted with  the  single  purpoSe  of  eliciting  facts  of  ethical 


VOLUNTARY  ACTION  78 

importance.  It  is  for  that  reason,  and  in  view  of  the 
overshadowing  interest  of  Ethics  in  actions  that  affect 
persons,  that  a  full  account  was  given  of  the  interest  in 
persons  and  quasi-persons.  The  importance  of  these 
interests  will  begin  to  appear  in  the  next  chapter,  and 
will  grow  constantly  clearer  as  Part  I  is  developed.  If 
the  Dynamic  Law,  with  which  the  discussion  opens,  is  un- 
derstood, the  whole  chapter  will  be  clear. 


CHAPTER  V 

The  Adult  Conscience 
§  1.     Introductory 

The  aim  of  Ethics  is  to  find  out  what  actions  are  right 
and  what  actions  are  wrong,  not  to  secure  an  accurate 
psychological  description  of  the  "  faculty "  that  gives 
this  information.  But  since  different  consciences  give 
conflicting  testimony,  and  so  leave  us  in  doubt,  it  be- 
comes necessary  to  find  out  as  much  as  possible  about 
these  our  only  witnesses,  in  order  to  estimate  their  rela- 
tive expertness,  and  to  piece  together  the  truth  about 
right  and  wrong  out  of  their  many  statements.  The  result 
of  an  examination  of  consciences  will  be  to  show  that, 
notwithstanding  their  differences,  they  are  significantly 
accordant,  and  that  strong  forces  are  at  work  increasing 
this  accord,  forces  men  could  bring  into  even  stronger 
play  if  they  but  knew  it,  and  cared  to  exert  themselves. 

The  complexity  of  conscience  is  generally  pointed  out  by 
the  text-books,  but  for  our  purposes  it  will  be  well  to  carry 
the  analysis  down  to  more  concrete  details  than  is  usual. 
The  division  of  conscience  into  an  emotional  and  an  intel- 
lectual aspect  will  be  accepted,  but  further,  the  principal 
component  emotions  and  ideas,  and  especially  the  organiza- 
tion into  the  moral  ideal,  will  be  described.  The  occa- 
sional conflicts  between  the  two  aspects  will  testify  to 
their  existence.  A  man  may  come  to  see  that  an  action 
once  thought  wrong  is  right,  or  vice  versa,  without  being 
able  for  some  time  to  bring  his  moral  feelings  into  accord 

74 


THE  ADULT  CONSCIENCE  75 

with  his  new  insight.  An  immigrant  into  New  York 
City  from  a  small  New  England  town,  where  all  traffic 
can  be  suspended  on  Sunday,  although  he  sees  the  neces- 
sity, may  not  at  first  feel  right  about  working  on  that 
day.  Further  evidence  will  appear  as  the  moral  emotions 
and  ideas  are  separately  discussed. 

§  2.     Conscience  as  Feeling 

One  of  the  first  lessons  of  logic  is  that  no  species  can 
be  known  until  its  genus  is  found  and  to  some  extent 
understood.  Many  important  truths  about  man  were 
unknown  until  the  fact  was  faced  that,  although  the 
highest,  he  is  still  an  animal.  And  similarly,  the  moral 
emotions  will  remain  dark  and  mysterious  until  we  fully 
realize  that  they  are  emotions.  In  view  of  the  over- 
shadowing role  they  play  in  human  life  it  is  natural  and 
wholesome  that  they  should  be  looked  on  with  respect 
and  awe,  but,  whatever  its  value  —  maybe  it  is  not  for 
all  —  the  business  of  science  is  to  understand  its  phe- 
nomena. Whatever  title  the  moral  emotions  have  to 
genuine  respect  they  have,  and  true  science  will  do  it 
justice. 

It  is  difficult  to  describe  emotions,  and  impossible  to 
describe  them  sharply.  The  field  of  the  emotions  is  not 
divided  off  into  distinctly  bounded  blocks  ;  it  is  like  an 
impressionist  landscape,  whose  outlines,  unseen  by  the 
eye,  are  read  in  by  the  imagination.  Each  is  largely 
made  up  of  systematic  sensations,  shared  in  part  with 
other  emotions,  and  all  shade  into  one  another  by  imper- 
ceptible steps.  Besides,  when  the  components  are  faintly 
present,  they  are  unlikely  to  arouse  attention,  and  when 
they  are  tumultuously  present,  they  are  so  absorbing  and 
arousing  as  to  repel  and  hamper  introspection.  But  for- 
tunately the  moral  emotions  are  familiar,  and  mention  of 
their  salient  features  will  suffice.  The  trees  may  be  over- 
looked, but  the  forests  will  appear  the  plainer. 


76  ETIUCS 

Responsibility^  Obligation^  and  Free  Performance.  —  Th© 
most  important  moral  emotions  fall  naturally  into  two 
groups,  each  of  which  complements  the  other.  The  first 
group  includes  the  feelings  of  responsibility-obligation 
and  of  free  performance,  which  appear  only  when  the 
agent's  actions  are  in  question.  The  second  includes 
approval  and  disapproval,  feelings  that  are  at  the  basis 
of  moral  judgments  which  are  generally  passed  on  actions 
not  the  agent's  own.  Writers  who  look  upon  conscience 
as  concerned  only  with  the  agent's  actions  have  their 
attention  centred  on  the  first  group  of  feelings,  whereas 
writers  who  interpret  conscience  more  broadly,  consider 
the  second  group  also.  Another  distinction  between  the 
two  groups  is,  that  the  first,  directly  affecting  the  agent's 
actions,  is  more  closely  connected  with  the  will,  while  the 
second  group,  giving  support  to  moral  judgment,  is  more 
closely  connected  with  the  intellect.  The  two  groups 
will  be  discussed  in  order. 

Responsibility  may  be  felt  in  general  or  in  particular ; 
it  may  be  a  mood  or  an  emotion  with  a  well-defined 
object.  The  engineer  running  a  passenger  train  at  the 
height  of  speed,  the  trustee  administering  the  fortunes  of 
defenceless  minors,  the  absolute  monarch  who  knows  he 
is  charged  with  the  destinies  of  a  whole  people,  ar© 
normally  in  a  responsible  mood.  They  feel  responsibility, 
not  for  any  particular  action,  or  to  any  particular  person, 
but  in  general.  But  if  a  friend  gives  me  an  important 
message  to  deliver,  or  if  I  have  promised  to  finish  and 
turn  over  some  work  for  use  this  morning,  my  feeling  of 
responsibility  is  a  particular  emotion,  and  is  then  more 
naturally  called  a  feeling  of  obligation.  It  is  between 
these  two  extremes  of  mood  and  emotion  that  the  moral 
pendulum  swings,  and  it  is  important  to  note  what  dis- 
tinguishes them. 

In  the  examples  first  cited,  accompanying  responsibility 
is  a  proud  sense  of  free  performance.     The  actors  un- 


THE  ADULT  CONSCIENCE  77 

doubtedly  feel  that  they  are  answerable  for  what  they  do. 
But  most  prominent  is  the  feeling  of  full  and  free  action. 
Each  actor  feels  that  what  is  done  is  decided  on  and  per- 
formed by  himself.  In  the  last  two  examples,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  ratio  of  the  feelings  of  freedom  and  of 
constraint  is  inverted.  I  must  deliver  the  message  or 
hand  in  the  work,  as  the  case  may  be.  No  doubt  the  "  I 
must "  is  imposed  by  me  on  myself,  and  the  act  is  freely 
performed,  and  yet  the  "  must "  is  most  prominently,  it 
may  be  oppressively,  felt.  When  responsibility  is  a  mood 
the  feeling  of  free  performance  is  in  the  foreground,  the 
feeling  of  constraint  in  the  background ;  when  respon- 
sibility is  felt  to  some  one  and  for  a  definite  action,  when 
it  is  the  particular  emotion  of  obligation,  the  inverse  dis- 
tribution of  freedom  and  constraint  obtains. 

Now  it  is  plain  to  see  that  both  responsibility-obliga- 
tion and  free  performance  are  essential  components  of 
conscience  when  the  agent's  actions  are  in  question.  Let 
the  monarch,  or  any  trustee,  go  on  a  hunting  and  fishing 
trip,  accompanied  only  by  an  intimate  friend,  and  with 
the  falling  away  of  the  weight  of  obligation  and  respon- 
sibility conscience  disappears  —  when  the  relief  is  great, 
he  may  disport  himself  like  a  truant  schoolboy.  And  at 
the  other  extreme,  let  the  person  to  whom  the  work  is 
due  be  powerful  and  tyrannically  exacting,  and  one  feels 
one's  self  an  irresponsible  tool  enacting  the  behests  of 
another  will  —  the  work  is  his,  not  mine,  and  I  wash  my 
hands  of  the  consequences. 

Sometimes  emotions  give  as  true  a  sense  of  our  situa- 
tion as  ideas  can,  and,  if  the  moral  emotions  considered 
have  been  properly  interpreted,  they  teach  an  impressive 
lesson.  For  they  indicate  that  conscience  counsels  to 
actions  with  a  double  weight  of  authority.  In  responsi- 
bility, obligation,  and  free  performance,  we  have  the  sense 
of  others  present  who  are  demanding  action  or  abstinence, 
and,  added  tliereto  and  fused  therewith,  the  sense  of  our 


78  ETHICS 

own  spontaneous  indorsement  of  the  demand  ;  or  else  it 
is  the  sense  of  our  demand  and  their  indorsement.  Ac- 
cording to  this  interpretation,  conscience  voices  the  com- 
mon will  in  so  far  at  least  as  the  individual  has  taken  it 
up  within  himself.  The  study  of  the  rise  of  conscience 
in  the  individual  and  the  race  will  confirm  this  suggestion. 

The  three  emotions  just  considered  embody  the  naked 
power  of  conscience.  Generally  they  are  assisted  by 
other  moral  as  well  as  by  non-moral  feelings.  Respect  for 
property  and  regard  for  reputation  deter  from  stealing ; 
reverence  for  family  and  love  of  relatives  impel  to  domes- 
tic kindness.  But,  whether  with  or  without  assistance, 
these  three  feelings  are  always  present  when  duty  is  dis- 
cerned, and  at  times  of  moral  crisis  all  depends  on  them 
alone.  "  If  adversity  and  hopeless  sorrow  have  completely 
taken  away  the  relish  for  life ;  if  the  unfortunate  one, 
strong  in  mind,  indignant  at  his  fate  rather  than  despond- 
ing or  dejected,  wishes  for  death,  and  yet  preserves  his 
life  without  loving  it,"  then,  using  Kant's  example  but 
only  part  of  his  conclusion,  in  preserving  his  life  he  is 
solely  impelled  by  the  sense  that  he  is  responsible  for  it, 
and  in  duty  bound  to  protect  rather  than  attack  it.  In 
men  whose  moral  nature  is  strong  at  all  points,  and  pre- 
pared for  any  assault,  habit  has  intimately  associated 
responsibility  and  its  two  aids  with  effort ;  when  a  duty 
appears  these  men  are  ready  to  put  forth  whatever  effort 
is  needed  to  perform  it.  On  the  other  hand,  in  men  who 
make  but  intermittent  effort  to  fulfil  felt  obligation,  the 
connection  of  habit  is  not  formed,  and  at  critical  moments 
conscience  is  weak. 

Approval  and  Disapproval.  —  We  turn  now  to  the 
emotional  components  of  conscience  associated  with  in- 
tellect rather  than  with  will.  They  are  called  approval 
and  disapproval  by  some  writers,  and  approbation  and 
disapprobation  by  others.  But  whatever  their  names, 
they  are  signals  to  the  individual  that  he  is  in  presence 


THE  ADULT  CONSCIENCE  79 

of  a  right  or  wrong  action,  as  the  case  may  be.  When 
an  apprehended  action  awakens  the  feeling  of  approval, 
it  also  incites  an  impulse  to  pronounce  the  words,  "  That 
is  right,"  "You  ought  to  do  it,"  or  some  equivalent. 
Here  again,  in  strong  moral  natures,  the  feelings  of  ap- 
proval and  disapproval  are  linked  by  habit  with  the  feel- 
ing of  obligation,  etc.,  as  these  in  turn  are  with  effort 
sufficiently  strong  to  insure  the  performance  of  duty  in 
the  premises  ;  while  in  weak  natures  the  first-named  feel- 
ings may  be  but  luxurious  emotions,  leading  possibly  to 
discussion  and  self-righteous  censure  of  others,  or  to  morbid 
introspection. 

As  to  the  feelings  of  approval  and  disapproval  them- 
selves, little  need  be  said.  In  assessing  actions  generally 
either  one  or  the  other  is  present;  but  in  exceptional 
cases  both  may  be  conflictingly  present,  some  aspects  of 
an  action  arousing  approval,  others  an  approximately 
equal  measure  of  disapproval.  A  young  man  who  wounds 
a  police  officer  in  resisting  his  father's  arrest  is  approved 
as  a  son  and  condemned  as  a  citizen. 

Very  much  the  most  important  characteristic  of  ap- 
proval and  disapproval  is  their  felt  objectivity.  However 
mistaken  my  approval  may  be,  it  does  not  feel  like  my 
mere  subjective  view,  but  carries  with  it  the  sense  that 
others,  at  least  those  who  are  competent  and  know  the 
facts,  must  certainly  agree  with  me.  It  is  this  felt  objec- 
tivity that  differences  these  feelings  from  liking  and  dis- 
like. One  friend  prefers  tennis  and  another  boating, 
and  neither  thinks  the  other  is  in  error,  for  one's  likes 
and  desires  are  one's  own,  and  it  is  foolish  to  dispute  about 
them.  But  let  the  first  believe  in  total  abstinence,  and 
he  does  not  look  on  his  friend's  belief  in  liberal  temperance 
as  merely  a  different  view.  He  believes  it  is  mistaken, 
and  is  convinced  that,  if  his  friend  realizingly  knew  the 
effect  of  drinking  on  himself  and  of  his  example  on  others, 
he  would  see  the  mistake.      The  liberal   tendency,  now 


80  ETHICS 

pushed  so  far,  to  let  every  man  follow  his  own  conscience 
without  interference,  must  not  be  construed  as  indicating 
that  men's  approvals  and  disapprovals  do  not  seem  to 
them  objective.  However  strongly  convinced  a  man  may 
be  that  another  is  doing  wrong,  his  conviction  may  be 
equally  strong  that  he  is  not  the  one  to  interfere.  Again, 
approval  and  disapproval,  like  other  forms  of  belief,  vary 
in  strength.  In  proportion  as  an  action  has  a  man's  ap- 
proval he  believes  it  is  right,  and  when  it  has  his  full 
unquestioning  approval  he  "knows"  it  is  right.  No 
more  is  maintained,  and  this  can  be  expressed  in  a  sentence: 
Approval  and  disapproval  correspond,  in  the  field  of  right 
and  wrong,  to  belief  and  disbelief,  in  the  field  of  fact. 

It  will  be  seen  at  a  word  that  the  feelings  of  approval 
and  disapproval  agree  with  responsibility,  obligation,  and 
free  performance  in  bearing  witness  to  the  accord  of  self 
and  others.  In  embodying  the  individual's  view,  together 
with  his  sense  that  others  agree  with  it,  these  feelings 
claim  to  voice  the  common  judgment,  and,  it  may  be, 
betray  their  origin  in  similar  feelings  aroused  in  the  indi- 
vidual (or  in  his  ancestors)  by  situations  where  all  present, 
including  himself,  put  the  same  estimate  on  the  actions 
under  discussion  at  the  time.  A  tribe  unanimously  con- 
demning a  member  for  actions  he  has  often  condemned  in 
others,  is  an  instance  in  point. 

Lesser  Moral  Emotions.  —  The  central  emotions  of  con- 
science have  now  been  passed  in  review,  and  a  word 
remains  to  be  said  on  its  more  occasional  components.  In 
mentioning  these  no  attempt  will  be  made  to  distinguish 
them  from  non-moral  emotions  that  often  assist  to  virtuous 
action,  for  to  do  so  would  be  both  difficult  and  unnecessary; 
the  distinction  is  too  often  merely  one  of  degree.  A  few 
samples  will  sufficiently  indicate  what  these  emotions  are, 
and  some  of  them  will  be  further  discussed  in  the  follow- 
ing chapter.  What  emotions  are  felt  naturally  depends 
on  what  actions  arouse  them.     One's  own  actions  and  pro- 


THE   ADULT  CONSCIENCE  81 

spective  actions  arouse,  among  others,  self-respect  and  self- 
righteousness,  remorse  and  self-contempt,  determination, 
resoluteness,  and  enthusiasm.  When  we  view  the  actions 
of  others  we  feel  respect,  trust,  loyalty,  reverence,  and  awe, 
or  contempt,  distrust,  superiority,  indignation,  resentment, 
«tc.  When  considering  kinds  of  action  that  any  one  may 
perform,  the  emotions  accompanying  the  judicial  and  ex- 
ecutive attitudes  are  likely  to  appear,  such  as  impartial- 
ity, poise,  sternness,  well-considered  even  when  hearty 
commendation,  responsible  condemnation,  and  others  like 
them.  Again,  particular  kinds  of  action  arouse  their  ap- 
propriate emotions.  We  feel  very  differently  towards 
dishonesty  and  unkindness,  injustice  and  intemperance, 
ounning  theft  and  brutal  murder,  though  all  these  feel- 
ings are  alike  in  the  assistance  they  give  the  naked  sense 
of  duty.  Most  important,  finally,  are  the  strong  inter- 
ests, in  self,  in  others,  and  in  quasi-persons,  discussed  in 
the  last  chapter.  When  in  conformity  with  conscience, 
and  fused  with  it,  they  are  the  love  which,  as  Paul  says, 
is  the  fulfilment  of  law,  that  morality  of  the  heart  or 
moral  inwardness  that  was  first  definitely  recognized  with 
our  era,  and  is  transforming  the  world.  Ethically  these 
feelings  are  known  as  benevolence,  and  under  that  title  a 
chapter  will  be  devoted  to  them  in  Part  11.^ 

§  3.     Conscience  as  Intellect 

Moral  Categories.  —  It  is  because  of  the  universal  ele- 
ment in  it  that  an  action  is  right  or  wrong.  No  action, 
whether  perceived  or  conceived,  ever  awakens  approval  or 
disapproval  merely  as  this  action,  but  always  as  this  kind 
of  action  ;  its  quality  is  decisive.  If  we  perceive  a  man 
in  a  distant  field  doing  something,  we  cannot  tell  Vhether 
the  act  is  right  or  wrong ;  we  must  know  further  what  he 
is  doing,  whether  stabbing  a  man  or  cutting  down  a  scare- 
crow.    But  to  know  that  is  to  know  the  kind  of  action  he 

lOn  this  whole  section  cf.  Dewey,  op.  eit.,  LXII. 
o 


82  ETHICS 

is  performing,  to  have  a  conception  of  it,  to  know  the  class 
to  which  it  belongs.  And  the  reason  for  this  is  plain. 
The  nature  of  generalization  prevents  particular  actions 
from  being  known  as  causes,  indeed  from  being  known  at 
all.  Only  kinds  or  classes  of  actions  can  be  known  as 
beneficial  and  injurious.  Man's  conscience  is  aroused 
only  in  so  far  as  he  classifies  the  actions  he  considers 
under  conceptions,  and  indeed  under  moral  conceptions. 
In  the  example  given,  the  first  glance  shows  a  man  slash- 
ing ;  if  he  is  killing,  conscience  appears  ;  if  he  is  not 
acting  in  self-defence,  but  murdering,  it  condemns  him. 
Now  this  shows  that  conscience  as  emotion  waits  on  con- 
science as  intellect.  First,  conscience  sends  out  its  light 
troops,  the  ideas,  for  reconnoissance,  and  then,  depending 
on  whether  they  report  foe,  friend,  or  false  alarm,  the 
heavy  artillery  of  emotion  is  brought  into  action  for  attack 
or  support,  or  else  is  ordered  back  to  quarters.  All  de- 
pends on  the  reliability  of  the  report.  The  difficulty  with 
the  drunkard,  as  Professor  James  somewhere  says  is,  that 
when  tempted  to  drink,  he  persists  in  misconceiving  the 
act ;  it  is  being  sociable,  or  testing  the  strength  of  his 
resolve,  or  helping  his  friend  the  saloon-keeper  who  has 
done  him  favours,  or  bracing  himself  to  quit  forever  —  it 
is  anything  except  the  thing,  being  a  drunkard.  Were  he 
steadily  so  to  conceive  the  act,  the  moral  emotions  would 
come  into  play,  and  carry  him  safely  past  the  too  seduc- 
tive door.  Actions  must  be  faced  frankly,  and  conceived 
fairly,  if  morality  is  not  to  be  poisoned  at  its  source  ;  for,  as 
Socrates  taught,  the  worst  form  of  lying  is  self-deception. 
Accordingly  the  intellectual  elements  of  conscience,  the 
moral  conceptions  and  categories,  are  ideas  that  awaken 
the  emotions  discussed  in  the  last  section.  The  distinc- 
tion between  moral  conceptions  and  moral  categories  calls 
for  a  word.  Dancing  and  drinking  are  moral  conceptions, 
elements  of  conscience  to  some,  to  those  namely  who  dis- 
approve the  two  kinds  of  actions.      But  they  are   not 


THE  ADULT  CONSCIENCE  88 

moral  categories,  because  many  consider  them  harmless 
when  moderate  and  seemly,  and  not  matters  of  conscience 
at  all.  But  actions  conceived  as  honest,  truthful,  or 
patriotic  on  the  one  hand,  or  as  cruel,  unjust,  or  ungrate- 
ful on  the  other,  awaken  in  all  men,  the  first  approval, 
and  the  second  disapproval.  Moral  categories,  then,  are 
conceptions  of  classes  of  actions  that  the  common  sense  of 
mankind  approves  and  disapproves.  They  can  readily  be 
found  by  ordinary  observation,  and  will  now  be  suggested: 
Part  II  will  be  chiefly  given  over  to  their  discussion. 

Moral  actions  may  be  classed  either  from  the  point  of 
view  of  right  and  wrong,  or  from  that  of  duty  or  obliga- 
tion. The  difference  is  based  on  the  nature  of  moral 
phenomena.  These,  as  has  been  shown,  are  actions,  but, 
as  will  be  shown,  only  actions  affecting  persons  and  quasi- 
persons.  The  latter  point,  not  yet  established,  will  be 
taken  up  in  the  next  and  following  chapters,  and  mean- 
time probably  will  cause  no  difficulty.  Land  and  metals, 
for  instance,  cannot  be  wrongly  treated  or  used,  but 
property  and  tools  or  weapons  can.  Accordingly  moral 
phenomena  may  be  subdivided  on  the  basis  of  differences 
among  actions,  the  persons  affected  being  unemphasized,^ 
when  actions  are  viewed  as  right  and  wrong;  or,  the  differ- 
ences among  actions  being  passed  over,  the  classification 
of  those  affected  may  be  extended  to  the  actions,  which 
are  then  conceived  as  duties  to  these,  those,  and  the  other 
persons  or  quasi-persons.  The  distinction  is  otherwise 
stated  as  that  between  the  right  and  the  good,  and  in  that 
form  is  coeval  with  language.  Right  is  etymologically 
related  to  the  Latin  rectus^  "  straight "  or  "  according  to 
rule,"  whose  Greek  equivalent  hUai^  is  connected  with 
the  root  dic^  to  point  or  direct,  and  so  to  command 
authoritatively  or  with  approval.  A  man  who  follows 
right  is  straight  or  upright ;  he  is  ruled  by  principles. 
Good,  on  the  other  hand,  is  connected  with  gut  in  German, 
ayado^  in  Greek,  and  the  root  gathy  serviceable  or  valuable 


34  ETHICS 

for  or  to  an  end.  A  good  knife  is  good  for  cutting,  and 
there  the  word  has  no  moral  meaning.  A  good  man  is 
good  in  some  relationship  or  to  some  one  ;  he  is  a  good 
friend,  father,  citizen,  etc.^  He  performs  the  duties  owed 
to  persons  and  institutions,  and  the  categories  of  duty  are 
as  many  as  the  classes  of  persons  and  quasi-persons  to 
whom,  by  common  consent,  they  are  owed.  This  gives 
civic  duties,  family  duties,  duties  of  friendship,  etc.  It 
would  be  profitable  to  discuss  scientifically  these  catego- 
ries and  those  of  right  and  wrong,  but  it  is  more  conven- 
ient to  reserve  the  discussion  till  later,  and  nothing  would 
be  gained  by  further  enumeration  here.  It  is  more  im- 
portant to  understand  the  categories,  and  to  know  how  to 
find  them.  Honest  and  truthful  actions  have  been  men- 
tioned as  right,  and  their  opposites  as  wrong,  and  others 
will  readily  suggest  themselves.  It  will  be  noted  that 
they  are  right  without  respect  to  the  persons  affected, 
that  they  are  categorically  imperative.  Most  important 
among  right  actions  are  those  inspired  by  the  cardinal 
virtues.  As  Part  II  will  hold,  a  man  who  acts  bravely, 
temperately,  justly,  benevolently,  and  wisely,  does  all  that 
morality  requires ;  duties  and  right  actions  otherwise 
named  are  but  specifications  of  these. 

We  also  have  ideas  or  conceptions  of  the  elements  of 
conscience,  and  the  most  important  of  these,  such  as  re- 
sponsibility, obligation,  self-respect,  etc.,  constitute  a  third 
group  of  moral  categories.  And  it  goes  without  saying 
that  agents  are  named  from  their  actions,  thus  giving  rise 
to  influential  categories.  One  who  murders  is  a  mur- 
derer, one  who  steals,  a  thief,  one  who  fails  in  duty  from 
fear,  a  coward,  etc.  From  their  personal  appeal  these 
categories  are  especially  dynamic  ;  even  though  a  man  be 
willing  to  deceive  occasionally,  he  is  unwilling  to  be  a 
liar. 

1  Cf.  Muirhead,  El.  of  Eth.,  §  26.  Surely  he  is  mistaken  in  associating 
duty  and  obligation  with  right  and  not  with  good. 


THE  ADULT  CONSCIENCE  85 

Moral  Judgment  and  Reason.  —  In  form  moral  judgment 
and  reasoning  are  the  siime  as  theoretical  judgment  and 
reasoning  ;  the  difference  is  only  in  subject-matter.  A 
moral  judgment  is  a  conviction  that  some  action  belongs 
or  does  not  belong  under  some  moral  conception;  and 
moral  reasoning  is  merely  reasoning  on  moral  subjects, 
that  is  about  moml  situations  and  in  terms  of  moral  con- 
ceptions. Accordingly,  like  all  other  reasoning,  it  may  be 
good  or  bad,  and,  moreover,  it  may  be  felt  to  be  sound  or 
to  be  doubtful.  If  we  are  convinced  of  its  soundness,  if 
all  doubt  concerning  it  is  absent,  we  have  the  sense  here, 
in  no  wise  different  from  what  we  have  in  other  reason- 
ing, that  the  conclusion  is  something  more  than  our  mere 
private  opinion ;  we  believe  it  to  be  in  conformity  with 
trutli,  and  feel  that  all  who  are  competent  and  sufficiently 
informed  would  agree  with  us.  Of  course  the  facts  about 
which  we  reason  are  actions  vouched  for  as  right  and 
wrong  by  feelings  of  approval  and  disapproval. 

But  there  is  also  a  moral  employment  of  judgment  and 
reasoning,  which  is  better  called  conscientious  judgment 
and  reasoning,  as  it  consists  in  the  conscientious  use  of 
intelligence,  in  using  it  as  alertly,  broadly,  impartially, 
and  wisely  as  we  can.  When  conscience,  or  the  sense  of 
responsibility,  is  present  throughout,  and  when  the  agent 
is  habitually  so  guided  in  his  practical  reasoning,  he  is 
conscientious  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word.  In  Professor 
Dewey's  words,  this  involves  "  a  greater  and  wider  recog- 
nition of  obligation  in  general,  and  a  larger  and  more 
stable  emotional  response  to  everything  that  presents 
itself  as  duty,  as  well  as  the  habit  of  deliberate  considera- 
tion of  the  moral  situation  and  of  the  acts  demanded  by 
it."  Conscientiousness,  therefore,  is  neither  an  element 
of  conscience,  nor  a  particular  grouping  of  elements ;  it 
is  merely  a  mode  of  its  use,  and  is  evidently  a  highly  im- 
portant form  of  activity.  The  discussion  of  its  character 
■and  rank  among  moral  habits  properly  falls  in  Part  II, 


86  '  ETHICS 

and  it  is  mentioned  here  solely  to  prevent  its  being  con- 
fused with  moral  reasoning,  with  reasoning  in  which  moral 
ideas  are  used. 

In  sum,  then,  moral  conceptions  and  categories  are  the 
only  intellectual  elements  of  conscience. 

§  4.     The  Moral  Ideal 

During  the  last  two  sections  the  corpse  of  conscience 
has  lain  on  the  table  while  the  dissecting  knife  was  sepa- 
rating and  exposing  its  component  parts  to  view,  and  no 
doubt  the  proceedings  have  been  ghastly  enough,  and, 
possibly,  offensive  to  moral  sensibilities.  Happily  that 
task  is  now  completed,  and  we  can  look  on  conscience  as 
the  organized,  living  unity  that  it  is.  So  considered  it  is 
known  as  the  moral  ideal.  First  ideals  will  be  discussed 
in  general  terms,  and  later,  on  the  basis  of  that  discussion, 
the  moral  ideal  will  be  characterized. 

An  ideal  may  be  defined  as  a  schematic  dynamic  sys- 
tem of  ideas  of  action.  Let  us  translate  this  definition 
into  more  popular  language,  and  unfold  the  meaning  it 
contains.  The  adjectives  will  occasion  little  difficulty. 
Among  the  characteristics  of  ideals,  two  are  most  famil- 
iar ;  if  they  are  genuine  ideals,  they  are  at  once  influential 
over  conduct,  impelling  us  to  attempt  their  own  realiza- 
tion, and  beyond  our  reach,  as  we  can  neither  completely 
comprehend  their  rich  fulness  of  purpose,  nor  satisfac- 
torily realize  so  much  as  we  succeed  in  comprehending  ; 
ideals  are  dynamic  and  schematic.  The  former  character 
istic  is  shared  with  all  other  psychic  states,  and  is  already 
understood ;  the  latter  is  peculiar  to  ideals. 

Schematic  Character.  —  The  schematic  character  of  ideals 
is  born  of  the  contrast  between  what  they  are  and  what 
they  stand  for.  They  are  like  French  laws,  the  barest 
skeletons  of  requirements  that  are  afterwards  enriched 
with  detail  as  administrators  apply  them  to  one  concrete 
case  after  another.     A  boy  can  specify  but  few  items  in 


THE  ADULT  CONSCIENCE  87 

his  ideal  of  dutiful  sonship,  compared  with  the  many  acts 
of  service,  compliance,  blind  trust,  and  loyal  defence  it 
prompts  him  to  perform  as  occasions  separately  arise,  and 
fewer  still  compared  with  the  unlimited  improvement  in 
manner  and  spirit,  and  the  innumerable  opportunities  for 
other  befitting  actions  taught  him  in  novel  situations  by 
the  measure  of  realization  he  has  at  any  time  achieved. 
Or  take  the  simpler  case  of  writing  an  essay.  The  pur- 
pose does  not  seem  complex,  merely  to  write  an  essay  on 
a  set  subject.  And  very  probably  one  is  not  aware  that 
ideals  are  in  the  least  involved.  But  one  cannot  make 
gross  false  statements  and  omissions,  or  get  all  the  facts 
from  one  authority,  or  throw  the  facts  together  without 
any  system,  or  write  in  barbarous  style,  or  misspell  in 
every  sentence.  And  all  this  means  making  observations, 
consulting  others,  going  to  a  library,  looking  up  a  cata- 
logue and  seeing  the  librarian,  taking  down,  reading,  and 
thinking  over  books,  and  still  more  books  to  understand 
the  first,  and  reference  books  too,  encyclopaedias,  diction- 
aries, etc.  The  ideal  dominates  at  every  turn,  and  yet 
no  one  is  fully  satisfied  with  his  essay  when  completed, 
or  with  any  other  performance ;  the  next,  he  determines, 
shall  be  better. 

The  fact  is,  that  the  boy  has  before  his  mind  the  model 
son  (not  in  the  "  goody-goody  "  sense,  but  his  real  model), 
and  the  essay-writer  the  means  and  resources  that  would 
be  employed  by  the  model  essayist.  It  is  these  exemplars 
that  each  is  impelled  to  follow,  and  who,  as  conceived, 
constitute  their  ideals.  This  suggests  an  explanation  of 
the  schematic  character  of  ideals  from  a  second  point  of 
view.  For  the  man  whose  example  inspires  us  is,  as  we 
feel,  more  adept,  deeper  than  we  are  in  some  direction. 
We  admire  and  respect  him,  and  would  do  as  he  does,  but 
we  can  neither  fully  understand  him  nor  foretell  what 
he  would  do,  and  our  doing  inevitably  falls  short  of  his. 
And  herewith  the  third  characteristic  of  ideals  appears. 


88  ETHICS 

Ideas  of  Agents .  —  Ideals,  probably  all  of  them,  but  at 
any  rate  practical  ideals,  are  ideas  of  agents  in  action.  In 
the  definition  they  were  for  brevity  merely  said  to  be 
"ideas  of  actions."  But  actions  are  voluntary  perform- 
ances, and  to  be  conceived  as  such,  they  must  be  conceived 
as  performed  by  agents  ;  that  is  of  their  essence.  In  the 
present  connection  then,  an  ideal  is  an  epitomized  biog- 
raphy of  an  exemplar,  or  a  composite  biography  of  many 
exemplars  acting  in  some  particular  capacity.  One's 
family  ideal  is  a  panoramic  series  of  pictures  represent- 
ing the  model  son,  brother,  husband,  father,  etc.,  as  they 
conduct  themselves  in  various  situations;  one's  political 
ideal,  similar  representations  of  the  model  citizen,  candi- 
date, official,  etc.  ;  one's  industrial  ideal,  of  the  model  man 
in  the  various  callings,  and  so  with  the  rest.  This  descrip- 
tion must  not  be  interpreted  as  meaning  that  the  whole 
of  an  ideal  is  present  at  once,  except  in  the  barest  outline ; 
and  yet,  as  will  presently  appear,  each  ideal  is,  in  an  im- 
portant sense,  an  organized  system,  all  of  whose  parts  act 
in  unity. 

Organic  Character.  —  For,  in  calling  the  ideas  of  actions 
an  organized  system,  the  definition  means  that  they  are 
associated  to  a  greater  or  less  extent,  and  influential  in 
greater  or  less  degree.  Organization  is,  of  course,  more 
or  less  perfect.  If  a  man's  foot  is  injured,  his  hand  comes 
to  the  rescue  ;  if  the  root  of  a  tree  is  cut,  its  limbs  do  not 
attempt  defence.  Yet  the  tree  also  is  organic.  Similarly 
some  men's  consciences  follow  the  vegetable,  others  the 
human  model.  Considerations  that  are  germain  to  a  man 
of  broad  outlook  fail  to  occur  to  another  whose  ideal  is 
but  loosely  interconnected.  In  some  the  different  sub- 
divisions of  conscience  are  all  but  insulated,  the  religious 
ideal  being  imprisoned  within  Sundays,  the  political  ideal 
being  powerless  against  friends,  the  scholarly  and  theo- 
logical ideals  being  guiltless  of  trespass  on  each  other's 
domain,  etc.     Such  men  live  two  lives  or  more,  nearly  as 


THE  ADULT  CONSCIENCE  89 

distinct,  if  not  as  opposed,  as  those  portrayed  in  Dr.  Jekyll 
and  Mr.  Hyde.  Nearly  as  distinct,  but  not  quite.  For 
situations  are  sure  to  arise  which  call  the  different  sub- 
divisions out  at  once,  and  if  this  occurs  at  all  frequently, 
they  must  become  associated,  and  reconciled  after  some 
fashion,  unless  we  ourselves  prevent  it. 

And  at  the  other  extreme  stand  men  who  bring  into 
play  the  whole  machinery  of  the  moral  ideal  to  decide 
every  question,  however  simple,  or  at  least,  who  approxi- 
mate closely  to  that  imaginary  extreme.  Each  trilling 
problem  must  be  looked  at  in  all  its  moral  bearings.  In 
each  of  its  bearings  it  is  agonized  over,  and,  if  a  decision 
is  finally  reached  and  action  follows,  the  whole  travail  is 
gone  through  with  again,  to  make  sure  that  no  mistake 
was  made  and  no  aspect  overlooked.  And  when  mistakes 
and  omissions  are  found,  as  is  inevitable,  a  fresh  access  of 
agonizing  supervenes. 

All  the  ideal,  then,  is  present  in  very  much  the  same 
sense  that  all  the  law  is  present  in  the  decision  of  a  judge. 
Although  he  considers  only  the  laws  and  decisions  that 
might  conceivably  be  pertinent  to  the  case  at  bar,  and 
mentions,  in  his  opinion,  only  those  he  thinks  are  in  fact 
pertinent,  yet  he  knows,  or  can  find,  all  the  laws  and 
decisions  without  exception.  Most  of  those  that  are  not 
considered  are  not  pertinent,  and  the  failure  to  consider 
any  that  is  in  point  must  be  considered  to  be  due,  either 
to  incompetence,  to  carelessness,  or  to  deliberate  partial- 
ity. Thus  the  whole  of  an  ideal  is  not  present  as  content 
of  consciousness,  but  functionally  it  is  present,  in  the 
sense  that  any  part  of  it  is  ready  to  appear  whenever 
association  is  brought  into  play. 

Moral  Ideals.  —  What  precedes  has  been  written  of 
practical  ideals  in  general,  but  many  illustrations  have 
been  taken  from  the  moral  ideal,  and  little  more  need 
be  added.  It  will  be  remembered  that  the  moral  con- 
ceptions are  those  that  awaken  the  moral  emotions,  and 


^0  ETHICS 

it  is  again  these  emotions  that  difference  the  moral  ideal 
from  other  practical  ideals.  The  moral  ideal  is  the  dy- 
namic, schematic  system  of  such  ideas  of  action  as  awaken 
approval  or  disapproval,  responsibility,  obligation,  and  the 
sense  of  free  performance.  Moreover,  since  morality  is 
concerned  with  all  voluntary  actions,  one's  moral  ideal 
should  picture  the  model  actors  in  all  the  fields  of  human 
activity,  —  in  the  family,  the  Church,  the  State,  in  busi- 
ness, in  behaviour,  etc.  But  the  ideas  of  action  are  con- 
ceptions not  categories,  and  moral  ideals  differ  widely. 
The  model  family  man  is  pictured  very  differently  in  the 
English,  French,  German,  and  other  national  ideals ;  and 
in  general,  owing  to  differences  in  inheritance  and  sur- 
roundings, the  model  of  virtue  in  any  field  varies  widely 
in  different  races,  and  in  different  individuals  belonging 
to  the  same  race.  But  the  difference  among  moral  ideals 
must  not  be  allowed  to  obscure  the  fact  that  they  seem 
objective  to  those  they  inspire,  just  as  each  one  of  their 
component  conceptions  does.  However  other  ideals  may 
differ  from  ours,  to  us  the  others  seem  mistaken  and  ours 
seem  true. 

Only  when  conceived  as  the  moral  ideal,  with  its  dy- 
namic, schematic,  and  organic  characteristics,  is  conscience 
properly  conceived.  To  identify  it  with  obligation,  re- 
morse, or  any  other  component,  however  awe-inspiring,  is 
like  identifying  a  railroad  system  with  the  brakes  on  its 
cars. 


CHAPTER  VI 

The  Psychic  Cause  op  Conscienob 

§  1.     Voluntary  Action  as  Cause 

In  asking  for  the  psychic  cause  of  conscience,  we  are 
asking  what  a  man  must  be  conscious  of  in  order  that  his 
conscience  shall  be  aroused,  i.e.  what  mental  states  have 
the  dynamic  efficiency  necessary  to  arouse  it.  This  prob- 
lem is  important,  for  it  is  the  first  step  of  the  inquiry  into 
the  genesis  and  development  of  conscience  in  the  child  of 
to-day  and  in  the  human  race,  and  the  solutions  of  these 
problems  throw  impoi-tant  light  on  the  central  ethical 
questions  as  to  the  nature  of  and  difference  between  right 
and  wrong. 

Man's  remarkable  sensitiveness  to  everything  that  indi- 
cates the  degree  to  which  his  actions  and  those  of  his 
fellows  are  performed  with  full  volition  has  already  been 
discussed  at  length  in  Chapter  II.  Wherever  an  action 
is  non-voluntary,  conscience,  however  aroused,  denies  its 
jurisdiction ;  and  in  proportion  as  external  hindrance,  or 
inner  bent  for  which  the  individual  is  not  responsible, 
interferes  with  foresight,  or  trammels  free  self-expression, 
in  that  proportion  does  conscience  temper  its  claim.  It 
remains  to  mention  the  logical  significance  of  these  facts, 
which  constitute  the  concomitant  variation  of  voluntary 
action  and  conscience  ;  when  two  phenomena  thus  vary 
together,  the  evidence  of  their  causal  relation  is  peculiarly 
strong.  No  doubt  when  voluntary  actions  are  not  attended 
to,  or  if,  when  attended  to,  they  are  not  distinctly  appre- 

91 


92  ETHICS  fc 

bended  as  voluntary  actions,  conscience  fails  to  be  aroused- 
But  this  only  indicates  what,  from  the  nature  of  the  case, 
is  plain,  that  only  apprehended  actions,  not  actions  as 
objective  facts,  can  be  regarded  as  the  psychic  cause  of 
conscience.     Only  psychic  facts  can  be  psychic  causes. 

But,  as  was  seen  in  Chapter  II,  the  fact  that  an  action, 
is  voluntary  is  not  sufficient  to  enable  it  to  arouse  con- 
science, and  therefore  voluntary  action  is  not  the  whole 
of  the  cause  of  conscience.  While  no  phenomena  except 
voluntary  actions  awaken  conscience,  some  of  these  (as 
stated  in  Chapter  II,  those  "  handed  over  to  the  direction 
of  individual  interest,  preference,  and  caprice  ")  fail  to  do 
so.  It  is  accordingly  necessary  to  discover  the  additional 
qualities  characteristic  of  the  actions  that  awaken  con- 
science, and  distinguish  them  from  ordinary  voluntary 
actions  that  do  not.  An  examination  of  the  latter  will 
conveniently  guide  us  in  the  search  for  the  needed  char- 
acteristics. 

Though  an  anticipation,  it  is  well  to  prevent  misun- 
derstanding by  insisting  that  no  action  viewed  in  the 
full  reach  of  its  consequences  is  morally  indifferent,  even 
though  it  should  not  awaken  conscience.  When  actions 
are  so  viewed,  Mr.  Muirhead  *  is  right :  morality  "  is  not 
'three-fourths  of  life,'  as  Matthew  Arnold  said  of  it,  or 
any  other  vulgar  fraction  of  it,  but  the  whole  of  life." 
Yet,  consideration  being  had  of  man's  limited  time  and 
energy,  of  his  capacity  to  tangle  himself  in  casuistry,  and 
of  the  necessity  of  having  some  things  settled,  it  is  equally 
evident  that  it  is  morally  inexpedient  to  decide  all  actions 
conscientiously,  and  in  fact  no  such  attempt  is  made. 
For  the  actions  directly  supervised  by  conscience  Matthew 
Arnold's  estimate  is  rather  too  liberal,  but  a  very  large 
estimate  results,  if  it  is  remembered  how  many  actions 
are  indirectly  supervised,  following  resolutions  that  have 
been  conscientiously  formed. 

1  Elements  of  Ethics,  §  16. 


THE  PSYCHIC  CAUSE  OF  CONSCIENCE  93 

§  2.     Voluntary  Actions  that  do  not  arouse  Conscience 

Caprice.  —  Caprice  decides  many  voluntary  actions, 
actions  whose  results  are  foreseen  and  consented  to.  In 
no  one  except  the  Puritan  and  the  dandy  does  conscience 
prescribe  the  cut  of  clothes,  the  colour  of  hat  or  tie,  or  the 
changing  topic  of  social  conversation.  Much  of  the  charm 
of  "  society,"  and  of  the  women  who  rule  there,  depends 
on  happy  caprice.  Indeed,  in  society  caprice  exercises 
constitutional  sovereignty,  within  the  generous  limits  set 
by  good  manners,  for  anything  that  indicates  individuality 
is  highly  valued.  Men  and  women  who  not  only  say  but 
do  the  unexpected  are  most  welcome  there,  commonplace 
dulness  being  the  great  crime,  and  if  any  one  is  original  or 
merely  different,  —  witness  the  lionizing  of  very  ordinary 
strangers,  —  much  will  be  forgiven  him.  The  statement 
may  be  ventured  that  the  proper  function  of  social  inter- 
course is  to  set  free  the  largest  amount  of  individual 
caprice.  This  explains  the  strict  barriers  that  are  set  up 
to  shut  out  the  uncongenial,  whose  presence  must  bring 
constraint.  Society  is  the  place  of  relaxation  where  all 
strenuousness  is  laid  aside,  for  gentlefolk  are  too  sure  of 
themselves  to  mind  their  manners,  and  business  is  out  of 
place  there.  Free,  easy  play  of  every  faculty,  congenial 
occupation,  bright  talk,  apt  reply,  happy  rejoinder,  and  all 
flows  smoothly  at  no  cost  of  pains.  At  least  this  describes 
good  society,  a  very  wholesome  thing,  which  all  societies 
take  as  their  model,  and  try  to  reproduce.  Some,  pre- 
posterously enough,  make  the  attempt  a  serious  business, 
which  is  the  surest  way  of  keeping  out  of  good  society. 
In  this  field  the  freest  pleasure  of  the  greatest  number  of 
its  members  is  the  end,  and  good  manners  but  lay  down 
the  rules  restraining  the  individual  from  diminishing  the 
pleasure  of  others,  and  calling  upon  him  to  make  his  due 
contribution.  To  be  sure  the  decision  as  to  when  and 
where  caprice  shall  rule  may  not  be  capriciously  decided. 


94  ETHICS 

The  boundaries  of  the  field  of  caprice  are  roughly  sketched 
by  conscience,  prudence,  and  preference ;  but  within  the 
boundaries  caprice  is  properly  supreme,  and  the  heart  of 
its  mystery  cannot  be  plucked  out  by  books  on  etiquette. 
While  there  are  other  fields  for  caprice,  society  is  the 
broadest,  and  that  which  most  readily  yields  evidence  in 
point. 

Preference.  —  Caprice  is  the  voice  of  the  moment,  pre- 
ference, a  more  lasting  inclination,  the  representative  of 
a  more  permanent  individuality.  The  Germanic  peoples, 
especially  the  Anglo-Saxon  race,  have  made  much  of  pref- 
erence, and  to  this  their  maintenance  of  sturdy  manhood 
is  largely  due.  Not  the  ruling  class  alone  but  every  man 
has  exacted  respect  for  his  preferences  as  such,  an  attitude 
mirrored  in  the  Common  Law's  defence  of  individual 
rights.  In  theory,  and  to  a  great  extent  in  practice,  in- 
dividual preference  has,  omitting  lesser  matters,  located 
homes,  chosen  life  callings,  and  selected  wives  and  hus- 
bands. The  romantic  family,  appearing  first  in  the  age  of 
chivalry,  is  founded  on  the  assumption  that  trustworthy 
signs  of  permanent  preference  are  the  best  guaranty  of 
a  happy  marriage.  While  caprice  has  been  deprecated, 
prudence  and  conscience  have  been  allowed  only  a  general 
supervision.  Indeed,  their  intrusion,  certainly  that  of  the 
former,  has  been  viewed  with  a  degree  of  suspicion.  For 
the  Anglo-Saxon  has  intuitively  felt  that  a  man  relishes 
the  good  and  bears  more  patiently  the  bad  consequences 
of  what  he  has  brought  upon  himself.  And  while  insist- 
ence on  preference  is  especially  characteristic  of  the 
Anglo-Saxon,  in  no  man,  not  even  in  a  Pharisee  or  in  the 
humblest  Russian  serf,  is  it  wholly  disregarded. 

Prudence. —  Prudence  is  organized  and  intellectualized 
preference,  that  takes  into  consideration  all  the  preferences 
and  interests  of  the  individual  throughout  life,  and  seeks 
so  to  harmonize  them  as  best  to  minister  to  his  welfare. 
Preference  and  caprice  do  not  take  so  broad  and  systematic 


THE  PSYCHIC  CAUSE  OF  CONSCIENCE  95 

a  view,  and  accordingly  when  followed  they  not  infre- 
quently lead  to  imprudence.  When  prudence  steps  in, 
decision  ceases  to  be  merely  a  matter  of  liking  and  inclina- 
tion, and  becomes  instead  a  matter  of  judgment  and  wisdom. 
For  there  are  certain  courses  of  action  that  all  look  upon 
as  foolish  and  imprudent,  and  others  that  all  look  upon  as 
wise  and  prudent.  For  instance,  among  the  objects  it  is 
thought  prudent  to  seek  in  due  measure  may  be  mentioned 
pleasure,  health,  wealth,  professional  ability,  reputation, 
and  independence.  This  list  is  not  intended  to  be  exhaust- 
ive, as  the  subject  cannot  be  discussed  at  all  fully  till  we 
come  to  Chapter  XV,  but  is  set  down  merely  to  give  an 
idea  of  what  is  meant  by  prudence. 

Nor  can  it  be  denied,  either  that  prudential  actions  are 
voluntary,  or  that  they  are  not  conscientious.  The  larger 
part  of  each  man's  foresight  and  decision  is  employed  in 
doing  the  work  of  his  profession  or  other  business  calling, 
and  in  protecting  and  fostering  the  other  personal  interests 
listed  above.  And  here  again,  while  conscience  at  least 
roughly  determines  when  a  man  has  a  right  to  insist  on  his 
"rights,"  yet  the  actual  process  of  defending  them  is  as 
evidently  non-conscientious  as  it  is  wide-awake  and  volun- 
tary. 

§  3.     Conduct  the  Cause  of  Conscience 

The  last  section  has  shown  that  an  easy  majority  of 
man's  actions  are  performed  capriciously,  or  in  accordance 
with  preference,  or  the  dictates  of  prudence.  Although 
fully  voluntary  they  do  not  awaken  conscience.  By  not- 
ing what  is  absent  in  all  these  cases,  it  will  be  possible  to 
discover  what  must  be  present  in  an  apprehended  action  in 
order  that  it  should  arouse  conscience.  In  none  of  them, 
as  we  readily  observe,  are  the  effects  on  any  one  other 
than  the  agent  at  all  considered.  In  caprice  there  is  a  sur- 
render to  impulse,  without  regard  for  consequences  either 
to  self  or  to  others.  In  following  preference  there  is  a 
consideration   of  likes   and  dislikes,  of  what  one  would 


96  ETHICS 

enjoy  and  what  one  would  not,  but  again  no  thought  of 
consequences  either  to  self  or  to  others.  In  following 
prudence  there  is  exclusive  consideration  of  the  effects  of 
the  action  on  the  agent's  interests.  In  all  this  no  thought 
of  others.  It  is  not  unnatural  then  to  suppose  that  con- 
science will  appear  when,  for  any  cause,  foresight  is  so 
broadened  as  to  take  into  sympathetic  consideration  the 
interests  of  others. 

The  testimony  of  many  ethical  authorities  supports  the 
supposition.  For  they  assert  that  morality  contains  as  an 
essential  element  a  sensitiveness  to  the  rights  of  others,  in 
other  words,  that  essential  for  the  arousal  of  their  con- 
sciences is  the  apprehension  that  the  action  affects  the 
interests  of  others.  The  golden  rule,  regarded  by  many 
as  the  best  compact  statement  of  what  morality  demands, 
considers  such  actions  only ;  the  same  is  true  of  nine  out 
of  the  ten  commandments,  and  even  more  intimately  true 
of  the  first  and  great  commandment  and  the  second  like 
unto  it.  So  important  for  morality  is  the  relation  of  the 
agent  to  others  affected  by  his  actions,  that  good  author- 
ities have  declared  altruism  to  be  the  alpha  and  omega  of 
morality.  Coming  to  the  sharper  statements  of  contem- 
porary writers:  "Briefly,"  says  Mr.  Leslie  Stephen,  "it  is 
admitted  that,  in  some  sense  or  other,  morality  implies  ac- 
tion for  the  good  of  others."  "  The  feeling  of  sympathy," 
according  to  Professor  J.  M.  Baldwin,  "  is  one  of  the  ele- 
ments whose  satisfaction  moral  satisfaction  as  a  whole  must 
include."  In  the  words  of  Mr.  Alexander,  "  Sympathy  of 
persons  with  one  another  [is]  undoubtedly  at  the  basis  of 
all  morality."     (Italics  in  the  quotations  mine.)  ^ 


1  The  point  is  not  that  actions  that  do  not  affect  others  are  not  moral 
phenomena,  and  if  the  authors  quoted  so  maintained,  an  improbable  inter- 
pretation, they  would  have  to  be  dissented  from.  In  §  1  it  was  said  that  all 
actions  are  moral  phenomena,  and  in  §  2  that  conscience  supervises  pru- 
dence, preference,  and  caprice.  The  point  is,  that  only  actions  affecting 
others  arouse  conscience. 


THE  PSYCHIC  CAUSE  OF  CONSCIENCE  97 

But  it  is  not  necessary  to  place  exclusive  reliance  on 
the  opinions  of  authorities.  The  facts  upon  which  these 
opinions  are  based  are  also  at  hand.  It  is  actions  that  do 
not  vitally  and  evidently  affect  others  that  are  decided 
by  caprice,  preference,  and  prudence.  But  let  the  agent, 
or  Adam  Smith's  impartial  spectator,  become  aware  that 
the  action  has  damaged  others,  and  conscience  appears. 
Those  well  endowed  with  wit  often  throw  their  shafts 
regardlessly ;  but  let  the  merry  jester  realize  that  one  has 
inflicted  a  serious  wound,  and  his  conscience  is  likely  to 
appear  and  trouble  him.  The  head  of  a  family,  fond  of 
outdoor  life,  may  reside  in  the  country  untroubled,  until 
he  comes  to  appreciate  the  inadequate  educational  advan- 
tages offered  his  children.  Men  careless  of  health  and 
substance  not  infrequently  in  later  years  bitterly'-  repent 
the  loss  of  capacity  which  disables  them  from  helping 
others.  A  mother  careless  of  her  reputation  in  earlier 
years  suffers  remorse  when  this  imprudence  is  visited 
upon  her  daughter.  A  son  who  is  careless  of  the  effects 
of  dissipation  on  himself,  will  find  his  conscience  troub- 
ling him  when  he  comes  to  realize  that  he  is  bringing 
want  to  his  parents.  Nor  is  this  confined  to  retrospect. 
The  prospect  of  injury  to  others  resulting  from  deed  or 
neglect  arouses  in  the  agent  a  sense  of  obligation  to  re- 
frain from  or  perform  the  action,  as  the  case  may  be. 
When  sympathetic  imagination  comes  into  readier  play, 
the  witticism  remains  unuttered,  the  country  residence  is 
abandoned,  health,  wealth,  and  reputation  are  duly  cared 
for,  and  dissipation  is  foregone,  or  at  least  conscience  will 
appear  and  demand  such  conduct.  In  short,  as  soon  as 
actions  are  seen  to  affect  others  in  interests  regarded  as 
vital,  conscience  appears  to  supervise  caprice,  preference, 
or  prudence. 

It  is  of  course  evident  that  the  interests  affected  must 
be  regarded  as  vital,  or  at  least  serious,  and  it  is  further 
evident  that  no  sharp  line  can  be  drawn  setting  off  these 


98  ETHICS 

interests  from  the  others  that  any  man  regards  as  trivial. 
This  no  doubt  makes  the  theory  less  sharp  than  one  might 
wish.  But  blame  must  be  laid  on  the  facts,  not  on  the 
theory ;  were  it  more  distinct  than  they,  it  would  in  so 
far  be  inaccurate. 

For  the  sake  of  convenience  and  brevity  a  name  may 
be  suggested  to  designate  the  kind  of  action  just  described. 
Usage  offers  the  term  "  conduct,"  which  may  accordingly 
be  defined  as  apprehended  voluntary  action  that  the  appre- 
hending subject  views  as  affecting  others  in  interests  he 
considers  vital.  And  our  result  may  be  put  down  in  the 
statement:  Conduct  is  the  psychic  cause  of  conscience. 
Further  confirmation  of  this  theory  will  appear  in  the 
chapter  on  the  race  origin  of  conscience ;  for  it  will  there 
be  held  that  only  actions  affecting  a  very  large  number, 
indeed  only  those  affecting  practically  the  whole  of  a 
community,  can  give  birth  to  the  complicated  group  of 
mental  states  we  call  conscience. 

§  4.     Self-respect  and  Respect  for  Calling 

It  is  generally  recognized  that  each  man  owes  duties  to 
himself,  and  that  these  duties  are  by  no  means  the  least 
important.  The  attitude  of  conscience  towards  them 
will  be  discussed  here,  as  these  duties  seem  inconsistent 
at  first  sight  with  the  results  reached  in  the  last  section. 
After  duties  to  self  have  been  discussed,  the  bearing  of 
the  conclusions  reached  on  the  problem  of  the  chapter 
will  be  considered. 

In  speaking  of  duties  to  ourselves,  we  naturally  say  that 
we  owe  it  to  ourselves  to  do  so  and  so,  or  that  our  self- 
respect  demands  such  and  such  conduct.  The  two  phrases 
convey  nearly  the  same  meaning,  but  it  will  be  more  con- 
venient to  discuss  the  problem  from  the  latter  point  of 
view,  i.e.  as  involving  an  understanding  of  self-respect. 

The  feeling  of  self-respect  is  aroused  in  much  the  same 
way  that  the   feeling  of  respect  for  others   is   aroused. 


THE  PSYCHIC  CAUSE  OF  CONSCIENCE  99 

A  man  is  not  respected  —  though  he  may  be  treated 
with  the  forms  of  respect  —  because  he  is  rich,  or  be- 
cause he  is  well  born,  or  because  he  is  intelligent,  or 
because  he  has  social  standing  and  social  graces,  or  indeed 
because  of  any  possessions  or  natural  characteristics  of  his. 
He  is  respected  or  despised  because  of  the  use  he  makes 
of  his  possessions  and  qualities.  Respect  is  not  concerned 
with  what  a  man  has  or  can  do,  but  only  with  what  a  man 
is  and  can  do  with  or  make  of  his  possessions  and  quali- 
ties. In  speaking  of  self-interest  in  the  chapter  before 
the  last,  it  was  pointed  out  that  a  man  is  interested  in 
having  certain  things,  and  in  being  certain  things,  and  it 
is  not  the  self  of  having  but  the  self  of  doing  that  arouses 
respect,  if  respect  is  aroused  at  all.  Or,  in  other  words, 
man  has  outward  possessions,  he  has  unreflective  or  sub- 
voluntary  capacities,  i.e.  a  body  of  spontaneous  tenden- 
cies, and  he  has  will-power  and  habits  of  will.  It  is  for 
the  will  a  man  has,  for  his  power  of  self-control  and  self- 
guidance,  that  he  is  respected.  The  sot  is  not  despised 
because  of  his  thirst  for  strong  drink  ;  the  man  with  an 
equally  strong  thirst  who  controls  it  earns  the  more  re- 
spect for  doing  so.  The  man  of  wealth  is  not  respected 
for  his  possessions,  but  he  is  respected  if,  in  spite  of  oppor- 
tunities and  temptations,  he  has  held  himself  to  worthy 
methods  in  acquiring  wealth,  or  if,,  refusing  to  misuse  his 
wealth,  he  allows  himself  to  use  it  in  none  but  worthy 
ways.  Briefly,  then,  it  is  only  the  self  as  a  voluntary 
agent  that  is  respected,  and  a  voluntary  agent  is  re- 
spected only  in  so  far  as  he  is  moral.  It  is  because  they 
hold  themselves  to  worthy  and  difficult  actions  that  we 
cannot  but  respect  the  man  with  an  abnormal  thirst  for 
strong  drink  who  controls  himself,  and  the  young  French- 
man who  controlled  his  homicidal  impulse,  as  mentioned 
in  Chapter  II.  And  in  so  far  as  one  maintains  conscien- 
tious self-control,  in  so  far  as  one  lives  up  to  one's  stand- 
ards and  principles,  self-respect  is  sure   to   follow.     The 


100  ETHICS 

moral  ego,  whether  self  or  another,  is  the  object  of 
respect,  and  the  more  difficult  and  heroic  the  morality- 
achieved,  the  greater  the  respect. 

But  two  senses  in  which  the  term  "self-respect"  is  used 
often  lead  to  confusion,  and  will  have  to  be  distinguished 
in  order  that  the  facts  may  be  clearly  understood.  In  the 
first  place,  self-respect  is  a  certain  agreeable  feeling  or 
emotion,  whose  presence  is  very  welcome,  and  whose 
absence  works  a  large  diminution  in  the  value  of  life. 
Now  regard  for  self-respect  may  merely  mean  the  desire 
to  preserve  this  agreeable  feeling  and  the  desire  to  escape 
the  discomfort  of  falling  out  of  conceit  with  one's  self. 
The  man  who  refuses  to  be  gross,  to  lie,  or  to  cheat  be- 
cause he  cannot  do  so  and  maintain  any  opinion  of  himself, 
and  because  to  have  an  unfavourable  opinion  of  himself 
is  to  be  ill  at  ease  and  uncomfortable,  that  man  in  so  far 
does  not  really  respect  himself,  but  merely  desires  to  feel 
respect  for  himself. 

Genuine  self-respect,  on  the  other  hand,  is  respect  for 
what  one  as  a  moral  agent  really  is,  and  concern  that  one's 
moral  insight  and  power  shall  not  deteriorate.  The  man 
of  genuine  self-respect  knows  that  any  unworthy  action 
weakens  the  moral  self  and  leaves  a  stain  upon  it,  and  he 
cannot  bring  himself  to  act  unworthily,  not  primarily 
because  he  desires  to  be  on  good  terms  with  himself,  but 
because  he  is  determined  that  he  at  least  shall  not  stain 
or  mar  this  self,  which  is  most  precious  to  him,  and  for 
which  he  before  all  others  is  responsible.  And  from  this 
analysis  it  is  easy  to  see  why  genuine  and  strong  self- 
respect  is  the  most  powerful  and  effective  force  making 
for  morality.  It  is  an  inner  and  constant  guardian  of 
morality  that  can  be  neither  evaded  nor  deceived.^ 

And  conscience  is  undoubtedly  aroused  when  a  contem- 

*  Cf.  the  discussion  of  volition  as  the  essential  difference  between  man 
and  other  animals,  Ch.  VIII,  §  2,  and  the  discussion  of  perfection,  Ch.  XV 
§1. 


THE  PSYCHIC  CAUSE  OF  CONSCIENCE  101 

plated  action  threatens  to  take  from  the  agent's  moral 
power  and  quality,  and  remorse,  the  most  poignant 
remorse,  follows  when  the  agent  realizes  that  he  has 
injured  the  vital  essence  of  his  manhood.  But  observe 
that  it  is  not  injury  to  the  self  of  prudence  that  arouses 
conscience ;  a  man  may  through  mistakes  and  blunders  lose 
his  fortune  or  lose  his  skill,  and  yet  be  easy  in  conscience. 
It  is  only  injury  to  the  moral  self  that  arouses  conscience. 
Now  the  conclusions  reached  in  the  last  section  may  be 
retained  unmodified  by  saying  that  a  man  objectifies  his 
moral  self  and  looks  upon  it  as  an  alter  ego^  and  moreover 
that  his  moral  self  is  really  the  representative  of  the  inter- 
ests of  others,  and  therefore  that  in  protecting  the  moral 
self  conscience  protects  an  alter  and  indirectly  protects  the 
interests  of  fellow-men.  But  a  simpler  course  is  to  de- 
fine conduct  as  action  that  is  apprehended  by  the  agent 
as  vitally  affecting  other  persons,  quasi-persons,  or  his  own 
moral  self.  Then  conduct  is  still  the  cause  of  conscience 
and  there  is  no  confusion. 

Conscientious  interest  in  professional  work  is  an  instruc- 
tive instance  of  moral  activity  that  calls  for  a  few  words 
here.  This  conscientious  interest  is  due  partly  to  the  fact 
that  every  man  has  standards  of  excellence  in  his  work, 
and  that  self-respect  calls  upon  him  not  to  disregard  or 
lower  his  standards,  and  partly  to  the  fact  that  the  work 
growing  under  one's  hand  takes  on  many  of  the  character- 
istics of  quasi-persons.  In  the  first  place,  the  energy  a 
roan  puts  into  his  work  is  all  but  certain  to  awaken  vital 
interest  in  its  proper  jjerformance,  which  is  measured  by 
ever  improving  standiirds  as  he  increases  in  skill.  Indeed, 
the  danger  often  lies  in  the  direction  of  undue  absorption 
in  one's  calling,  to  the  neglect  of  human  interests  nearer 
home.  Of  this  the  scientist,  absorbed  in  liis  cold  intellec- 
tual occupation,  was  at  one  time  the  favourite  example. 
But  any  man  of  ambition  and  strong  sense  that  there  is 
a  right  way  to  do  what  has  to  be  done  at  any  time,  for 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
BAHTh  BARBARA  COLLEGE  LIBRARY 


102  ETHICS 

instance  the  best  type  of  American  business  man,  will 
serve  as  well.  The  work  of  such  a  man  puts  him  under 
constant  obligation  to  put  forth  all  his  energies  at  their 
best.  And  in  the  second  place,  the  duty  a  man  owes  to 
his  work  is  brought  very  vividly  to  mind  in  proportion 
as  intelligent  purpose  is  embodied  in  it.  The  craftsmen 
of  the  days  before  the  invention  of  machinery  were  greatly 
stimulated  to  conscientiousness  in  their  work  by  the  fact 
that  they  watched  it  grow  from  the  first  step  to  the  last, 
and  that  it  came  to  take  on  for  them  life  of  its  own.  In 
this  respect  their  advantage  over  the  piece-workers  of  to- 
day is  very  great.  But  there  are  many  men  to-day,  among 
them  the  managers  of  large  business  enterprises,  and  most 
workers  in  intellectual  fields,  who  still  have  this  stimulus 
to  conscientious  work ;  and  many  respond  nobly  to  the 
obligation.  For  under  the  circumstances  described  the 
feeling  is  nothing  less  than  a  sense  of  obligation.  The  ap- 
pearance of  conscience  is  due  partly  to  the  fact  that  the 
moral  self  is  involved,  and  partly  to  the  fact  that  one's 
work  often  assumes  the  form  of  a  quasi-person. 

§  5.    Applications  of  the  Theory 

The  conclusions  reached  bring  out  some  interesting  char- 
acteristics of  the  workings  of  conscience.  For  conscience, 
as  we  have  seen,  is  not  only  aroused  by  proposed  conduct, 
but  is  itself  an  organic  group  of  schemes  of  conduct,  which 
may  stand  towards  that  proposed  in  a  number  of  different 
relations.  As  situations  and  the  nature  of  men  suggest 
lines  of  conduct,  conscience  appears,  either  to  encourage, 
to  correct  or  overrule,  to  decide  among  conflicting  schemes, 
or  to  substitute  one  of  its  own,  according  as  the  facts, 
present  and  prospective,  seem  to  demand.  Of  course  con- 
science is,  from  the  nature  of  the  case,  more  distinct,  when 
it  stands  over  conduct  to  veto  separate  items  or  the  whole, 
to  urge  its  substitute,  or  to  make  its  choice  among  the  rival 
alternatives   that  cause  hesitation.     When  it  approves  a 


THE   PSYCHIC   CAUSE   OF  CONSCIENCE  103 

man's  undivided  inclination,  conscience  combines  with  it, 
and  is  likely  to  be  overlooked  in  the  combination.  But  it 
is  present  none  the  less,  as  the  satisfying,  full-orbed  power 
of  such  actions  suflBciently  attests.  To  hold  otherwise 
would  be  to  hold  that  virtuous  actions  are  unconscientious, 
and  cannot  therefore  be  distinguished  from  actions  that  are 
moral  merely  in  form  —  a  position  as  unsatisfactory  as 
untrue.  In  fact,  conscience  finds  its  completest  analogue 
in  the  parent  who  is  not  only  wise  in  guiding  his  children 
by  timely  suggestion,  in  weighting  the  righteous  scale 
where  decision  is  difficult,  and  in  restraining  them  from 
evil,  but  is  reasonable  in  furthering  their  development  by 
according  their  good  impulses  free  play  and  hearty  sup- 
port. Conscience  may  be  abreast  of  inclination-prompted 
conduct,  or  it  may  be  ahead  of  it,  suggesting  action  that 
safeguards  interests  inclination  was  in  danger  of  neglecting. 
Again,  the  view  that  conduct  is  the  psychic  cause  of 
conscience  brings  it  under  the  dynamic  law  that  every 
event  has  an  effect,  and,  what  is  more  important  in  this 
connection,  under  the  corollary,  that  different  events  have 
different  effects.  For  not  only  is  the  peculiarity  of  con- 
duct, involving  both  volition  and  the  sympathetic  apprecia- 
tion of  the  states  of  others,  paralleled  by  the  uniqueness 
of  conscience,  but  for  every  shade  and  turning  of  the 
former  there  is  a  sensitively  responsive  alteration  in  the 
latter.  The  last  point  has  already  been  touched  on  in 
the  preceding  chapter,  where  the  variations  in  the  moral 
emotions  aroused,  depending  on  the  conduct  arousing 
them,  was  suggested.  One's  own  doings,  omissions,  and 
self-indulgences  are  signally  different  from  all  other  ex- 
periences, and  the  conscience  they  arouse  is  so  striking 
that  some  authorities  think  it  alone  is  entitled  to  the  name. 
If  one's  actions  are  past,  remorse  shades  through  moral 
uneasiness  into  proud  self-satisfaction;  if  they  are  to  be 
performed  at  once,  or  in  the  future,  responsibility,  obliga- 
tion, etc.,  appear.    And  while  our  judgments  of  the  actions 


104  ETHICS 

of  Others,  being  our  own  actions,  may  also  rouse  these 
feelings,  those  actions  themselves  arouse  a  different  set  of 
emotions,  e.g.  resentment,  indignation,  disapproval,  ap- 
proval, respect,  etc.  And  finally,  although  many  in  this 
last  group  of  emotions  are  also  aroused  when  classes  of 
conduct  are  considered,  yet  the  mood  is  then  likely  to  be 
judicial  and  responsible  as  well.  Vary  the  conduct  appre- 
hended, and  conscience  presents  a  various  emotional  and 
intellectual  equipment. 

It  is  especially  important  to  bear  in  mind  this  sensitive 
covariation  in  considering  the  entire  emotional  aspect  of 
conscience,  always  thought  so  mysterious  by  Ethics.  The 
awe  the  moral  emotions  inspire  testify  to  their  uniqueness 
—  the  commonplace  does  not  impose.  But  this  charac- 
teristic of  uniqueness,  far  from  being  astonishing,  is  just 
the  one  that  should  be  expected  in  the  emotions  that  con- 
duct arouses.  Nothing  in  the  history  of  man  approaches 
conscious  social  action  in  importance,  and  it  would  be 
singular  if  the  emotion  it  arouses  were  hardly  different 
from  other  emotions.  It  is  man  the  social  animal  who 
has  conquered  the  earth  and  the  fulness  thereof.  But  it 
is  not  so  important  for  Ethics  to  note  and  interpret  the 
singularity  of  the  moral  emotions,  as  to  examine  them 
without  purturbation,  and  to  seek  an  explanation  for  them. 
And  in  this  encouragement  is  offered  by  the  large  and 
growing  measure  of  success  in  explaining  other  emotions 
that  has  been  achieved  by  Darwin,  James,  Lange,  and 
their  followers,  whose  method  offers  the  greatest  promise 
in  the  field  of  the  moral  emotions.  All  emotions  as  brute 
facts  are  mysterious ;  but  once  specify  their  excitants  and 
they  become  amenable  to  biological  explanation.  Fear, 
for  instance,  is  explained  as  a  milder  recurrence  of  the 
group  of  sensations  experienced  by  a  long  line  of  ancestry 
during  flight  from  dangerous  objects  and  persons;  and 
successful  explanations  of  other  emotions  have  been  given 
along  the  same  line.     The  moral  emotions  have  been  but 


THE   reYCHIC   CAUSE   OF  CONSCIENCE  105 

little  investigated  from  this  point  of  view,  and  of  them  no 
specific  explanations  can  as  yet  be  given.  But  there  is 
reason  to  believe  the  same  mode  of  approach  will  yield 
equally  satisfactory  results,  and  it  will  be  tried  in  succeeding 
cliapters.  Commingle  the  emotions  aroused  by  impressive 
persons  and  assemblies,  with  those  we  experienced  when 
playing  an  impressive  part  ourselves,  and  a  beginning  of 
explanation  is  made  that  further  investigation  may  well 
bring  to  a  successful  issue.^ 

Another  gain  is  the  aid  towards  discovering  the  origin 
of  conscience  in  the  child  and  the  race.  Were  its  cause 
an  irreducibly  simple  experience,  conscience  could  only 
arise  all  at  once  as  a  lusus  naturce.  But  conduct  is  very 
far  from  being  that,  and  is,  on  the  contrary,  a  fact  that 
must  have  come  to  apprehension  very  gradually,  and  that 
even  now  may  be  grasped  with  decidedly  varying  precision 
and  fulness.  The  capacity  for  forming  general  concep- 
tions must  have  grown  up  little  by  little ;  the  formation 
of  conceptions  of  voluntary  actions  must  have  lagged  after 
that ;  and  finally,  during  this  preparation,  and  the  devel- 
opment of  vital  interests  and  sympathetic  feelings,  con- 
ceptions of  conduct  must  gradually  have  been  compacted 
and  built  up  above  the  threshold  of  consciousness.  And  as 
it  was  with  the  cause  so  must  it  have  been  with  the  effect, 
conscience  growing  pari  passu  with  the  apprehension  of 
conduct.  Even  now  when  conscience  is  to  be  developed 
in  a  particular  direction,  to  cover  conduct  so  far  negli- 
gfently  performed,  a  favourite  means  is  to  call  attention  to 
vital  effects  of  that  conduct  that  have  been  overlooked. 

1  Cf.  James,  iV.  of  Psych.,  Ch.  XX,  and  also  Ch.  VUL 


CHAPTER  VII 

BiBTH  AND   GeOY?TH  OF   CONSCIENCE   IN  THB   ChILD 

§  1.    The  Problem  Stated 

The  problem  of  the  birth  and  growth  of  conscience  in 
the  child  is  one  for  which  Ethics  has  done  practically 
nothing,  and  Psychology  very  little  until  the  last  few 
years.  But  lately  the  latter  science  has  in  some  measure 
redeemed  its  neglect,  and  it  is  therefore  possible  to  write 
something  on  the  subject  that  has  scientific  value.  It 
should  be  said,  however,  that  the  results  are  too  recent 
to  be  thoroughly  authenticated,  and  also  that  use  will  not 
be  made  of  all  the  results  of  investigations  into  the  devel- 
opment of  children,  but  only  of  such  results  as  throw  light 
on  ethical  problems. 

In  one  sense  conscience  is  not  born  in  the  human  child, 
and  in  another  sense  it  is.  At  birth  the  child  has  no  ap- 
prehension of  right  and  wrong ;  indeed,  until  the  end  of 
the  second  year  it  will  inflict  great  inconvenience,  worri- 
ment,  and  suffering  without  the  slightest  qualm,  and  will 
witness  all  kinds  of  conduct  in  others  without  any  sign 
either  of  approval  or  condemnation.  On  the  other  hand, 
even  then  the  human  child  is  very  different  from  the 
young  animal.  No  influences  to  which  the  latter  can  be 
subjected  can  develop  conscience  in  it,  while  all  but  the 
most  exceptional  conditions  will  at  some  time  more  or  less 
distant  from  birth  develop  it  in  the  former.  Conscience 
then  is  inborn  in  the  human  child  in  very  much  the  same 
sense  that  spacial  perception  or  counting  are  inborn  in  it. 

106 


BIRTH  AND  GROWTH  OF  CONSCIENCE  IN  THE  CHILD     107 

Though  none  of  these  forms  of  reaction  are  present  at 
bii'th,  the  germs  out  of  which  they  develop  are  then 
present.  Accordingly  the  conditions  under  which  the 
germ  of  human  conscience  is  incubated  and  brought  to 
birth,  though  difficult  to  observe,  can  yet  be  investigated, 
since  they  are  of  post-natal  occurrence. 

In  view  of  the  frequent  discussion  of  the  subject,  it 
should  be  pointed  out  that  the  late  development  of  con- 
science is  a  tribute  to  its  importance.  For  it  is  the  rule 
that  the  simpler  and  lower  powers  develop  early,  most 
of  them  before  birth,  while  the  complex  higher  powers 
develop  late.  Of  course  the  lower  animals,  who  have  no 
higher  powers,  are  born  nearly  full-armed  and  ready  for 
independent  life,  and  indeed  most  of  them  are  compelled 
to  stand  alone  without  parental  aid.  Having  only  a  few 
simple  powers  to  develop,  the  pre-natal  period  is  of  suffi- 
cient duration  to  allow  of  their  development.  But  in 
proportion  as  animals  stand  higher  in  the  animal  scale,  the 
period  of  immaturity  lengthens  and  extends  beyond  birth. 
For  every  animal  in  its  growth  repeats  in  summary  fashion 
the  evolution  of  its  ancestors,  and  the  longer  or  rather 
the  more  varied  the  line  of  its  ancestry  —  all  ancestral 
lines  are  of  equal  length  —  the  more  there  is  to  repeat, 
and  the  longer  the  time  it  takes  to  attain  to  maturity.  In 
man,  the  highest  animal,  there  is  the  greatest  variety  of 
stages  to  recapitulate,  and  therefore  the  longest  period  of 
post-natal  immaturity.  Naturally  the  repetition  is  in  the 
order  of  the  evolutionary  occurrence,  and  the  capacities 
which,  like  conscience,  are  characteristic  of  the  latest  and 
most  highly  developed  ancestry,  are  developed  last. 

When  conscience  was  described,  it  was  characterized  as 
a  system  of  ideas  of  agents  in  action,  and  it  is  from  that 
characterization  that  the  attempt  to  explain  the  origin  of 
conscience  in  the  child  can  most  conveniently  start.  The 
first  question  will  be.  How  does  the  child  come  to  get 
ideas  of  agents?  and  the  second,  How  does  he  come  to 


108  ETHICS 

get  ideas  of  moral  agents  ?  for  conscience  is  made  up  of 
ideas  of  moral  agency.  These  ideas  rest,  to  be  sure,  on 
moral  emotions,  but  it  will  be  found  that  in  tracing  the 
origin  of  the  ideas,  the  origin  of  the  emotions  will  also  be 
traced. 

In  tracing  the  origin  of  ideas  of  agency,  it  will  be  nec- 
essary to  go  back  a  step,  and  trace  the  origin  of  the  child's 
experience  of  agency.  For  it  is  almost,  if  not  quite,  as 
impossible  for  any  one  to  have  an  idea  of  agency  with- 
out previous  experience  of  agency,  as  it  is  for  the  born 
blind  to  have  ideas  of  colours.  The  problem  then  really 
is.  How  and  when  does  the  child  experience  agency,  or  be- 
come an  agent?  Much  light  has  recently  been  thrown  on 
this  difficult  problem  by  Professors  Royce  and  Baldwin. 
Working  independently,  they  reached  very  much  the  same 
conclusions.  The  conclusions  are  based  on  careful  thought 
and  investigation,  and  are  the  most  thorough  and  reliable 
that  science  has  as  yet  reached,  and  what  follows  will  be 
based  upon  them,  though  departing  from  them  at  points 
to  be  designated  later. 

§  2.     The  Origin  of  Agency 

Little  as  is  known  of  the  early  life  of  the  human  child, 
it  is  a  well-established  fact  that  at  birth  it  is  not  an  agent, 
i.e.  it  does  not  perform  voluntary  actions.  Extremely 
active  is  the  infant,  and  naively  full  of  life  during  its 
waking  moments,  putting  forth  an  ample  energy,  and 
learning,  partly  by  the  normal  ripening  of  centres,  and 
partly  by  practice,  but  wholly  without  purpose,  to  do  the 
many  things  provided  for  by  its  inborn  reflexes  and  in- 
stincts. But  however  ample,  the  child's  experience  is  a 
confused  mass,  and  however  various  and  apt  its  move- 
ments, it  does  not  know  what  it  is  about,  and  does  not  act 
with  deliberate  intent  and  purpose.  The  child  may  be 
intently  interested  in  its  novel  experiences,  and  especially 
interested  in  the  movements  it  finds  "its"  body,  as  we 


BIRTH  AND  GROWTH  OF  CONSCIENCE  IN  THE  CHILD    109 

call  it,  performing.  But  it  does  not  act  intelligently,  or 
with  an  end  in  view,  and  self-consciousness  is  wholly,  one 
is  tempted  to  say  charmingly,  absent.  Most  of  its  actions 
undoubtedly  benefit  the  child,  but  they  are  not  performed 
in  order  to  get  the  benefit,  but  merely  because  of  healthy 
instincts.  At  least  it  is  only  about  the  third  year  that 
voluntary  action  begins  to  appear.  How  then  is  its 
appearance  to  be  explained? 

The  Three  Stages.  —  In  the  child's  development  towards 
agency  three  stages  may  be  distinguished,  respectively 
called  by  Professor  Baldwin  the  projective,  the  subjective, 
and  the  ejective.  The  meaning  of  these  terms  will  be 
developed  as  the  discussion  advances.  The  first  step 
towards  agency  is  the  consciousness  of  the  difference 
between  persons  and  things.  But  this  is  not  the  first 
difference  noticed  by  children.  Probably  the  first  differ- 
ence noticed  is  that  between  moving  things  and  things 
at  rest.  Anything  that  moves  —  a  flapping  curtain,  the 
moon  through  the  clouds,  the  nurse  about  the  room,  the 
caressing  hand  —  at  once  attracts  attention.  At  first 
this  is  by  inborn  mechanism.  But  that  is  soon  reenforced 
by  experience,  for  it  is  from  movements  that  all  pleasures 
and  pains  come.  Movements  relieve  hunger  and  bring 
the  absorbing  pleasures  of  food;  they  soothe  fretting 
and  wakefulness ;  they  mysteriously  banish  tight  clothes, 
sticking  pins,  and  colic ;  in  a  word,  they  are  the  infant's 
providence,  from  which  come  all  weal  and  woe.  They 
soon  get  incorporated  into  the  pain-movement-pleasure 
series,  which  is  the  central  fact  of  the  infant's  life, 

Hie  Projective  Stage.  —  Later,  persons  come  to  be  se- 
lected out  from  among  other  moving  objects.  Persons 
are  different  from  things  and  treat  the  child  differently, 
and  it  finds  its  body  acting  differently  towards  them, 
which  naturally  aids  in  the  discrimination.  Again,  most 
of  the  succouring  movements  are  due  to  persons,  and  thus 
persons   are   brought  into  prominence.      But    Professor 


110  ETHICS 

Baldwin's  observations  show  that  persons  awaken  and 
hold  the  child's  puzzled  attention  chiefly  because  of  their 
fascinating  incalculability.  Things  act  in  accordance 
with  relatively  simple  laws,  especially  the  things  within 
the  experience  of  the  ordinary  carefully  shielded  child. 
But  persons  move  spontaneously ;  they  have  individuality ; 
they  have  moods  and  humours  and  caprices.  They  "  keep 
the  child  guessing,"  and  at  first  it  has  no  guiding  thread 
by  means  of  which  it  can  find  its  way  about  the  labyrinth 
of  their  whims.  The  child  is  balked,  disappointed,  suc- 
coured, pleasantly  surprised  so  often  by  persons  that  it  is 
difi&cult  to  say  whether  the  puzzle  is  greater  than  the  fas- 
cination, or  the  fascination  greater  than  the  puzzle.  So 
the  child  watches  persons,  and  gets  adjusted,  surprisingly 
well-adjusted,  to  those  with  whom  he  is  thrown  in  frequent 
contact.  But  so  far,  as  careful  observers  agree,  the  child 
does  not  understand  persons.  And  the  reason  is  not  diffi- 
cult to  find.  The  child  cannot  yet  act  with  a  reason, 
for  a  purpose,  with  an  intelligent  intent ;  and  of  course 
it  cannot  understand  those  who  so  act.  Even  though 
we  act  from  motives,  we  fail  to  understand  those  whose 
motives  we  cannot  guess.  The  practical  politician  and 
the  reformer  never  understand  each  other,  and  so  it  is 
with  the  egoist  and  the  philanthropist,  the  musician  and 
the  man  with  no  ear  for  music,  etc. ;  it  is  not  a  little 
amusing  to  hear  the  strange  and  tortuous  motives  assigned 
to  men  who  are  simply  following  their  natural  inclina- 
tions. But  if  men  do  not  understand  each  other  when 
they  do  not  share  each  other's  motives,  how  can  the  child, 
■who  does  not  act  from  motives  at  all,  be  expected  to 
understand  those  who  do? 

In  Professor  Baldwin's  terminology  this  stage  is  the 
projective  stage,  and  during  it  persons  are  personal  projects 
for  the  child.  "  If  we  regard  these  objects  [persons]  as 
fully  presented,  i.e.  as  in  due  relationship  to  one  another 
in  space,  projected  out  and  thought  of  as  external,  and  call 


BIRTH  AND  GROWTH  OF  CONSCIENCE  IN  THE  CHILD     111 

such  objects  again  projects^  then  persons  at  this  stage  may 
be  called  pergonal  projects^  ^  Professor  Baldwin's  point 
is,  that  pei-sons  are  projected  outward  in  space,  and  differ 
from  other  objects  so  perceived  only  in  being  more  inter- 
esting and  more  puzzling.  This  stage  is  important  because 
it  is  the  deep  interest  that  the  child  has  had  aroused  in 
persons  that  brings  him  into  alert  contact  with  these 
agents,  and,  by  giving  his  strong  imitative  faculty  an 
opportunity  to  make  him  similar  to  them,  converts  him 
also  into  an  agent. 

The  Subjective  Stage  is  initiated  by  the  child's  imitative 
tendency,  playing  on  the  "  copy  "  furnished  by  the  agents 
or  persons  in  whom  his  chief  interest  centres.  The  pei^ 
sons  about  the  child  do  many  things  in  many  ways ;  and, 
among  other  things,  they  put  forth  effort  to  accomplish 
their  ends,  they  deliberate,  they  hold  themselves  in  sus- 
pense, with  the  result  that  sometimes  they  restrain  them- 
selves and  sometimes  they  consent.  And  all  these  things 
the  child  imitates,  the  easiest  fiurst,  and  later  the  more 
difiBcult.  What  he  first  imitates  may  be  the  uttering  of 
words ;  it  maj-  be  the  drawing  of  pictures  ;  it  may  be  the 
attainment  of  the  erect  posture.  At  any  rate  it  will  be 
something  simple.  But  the  important  thing  to  note  is 
that  the  child  now  first  puts  forth  effort,  and  experiences 
its  efficacy.*      He  makes  the  momentous  discovery  that 

1  Mental  Development,  p.  18. 

*  Professor  Baldwin  holds  that  the  child's  first  voluntary  actions  take 
the  form  of  persistent  imitations,  and,  since  persistent  imitations  are 
effortful,  the  contention  in  very  plausible.  But  if  it  be  asked  further 
how  the  child  comes  effortfully  to  imitate,  the  professor's  answer  is  hardly 
as  full  as  one  might  desire.  At  least  it  is  not  quite  clear  to  the  present 
writer.  After  an  examination  of  Professor  Baldwin's  facta,  and  of  those 
reported  by  other  investigators,  it  seems  most  probable  to  me  that  effort 
is  first  achieved  by  imitation  of  the  effort  put  forth  by  others.  The  child 
is  sensitively  and  imitatively  responsive  to  attitudes  and  postures  of 
strain  and  stress  in  others  ;  his  body  easily  falls  into  conformity  with  the 
bodily  states  of  others.  Why  not  hold,  then,  that  the  child  finds  himself 
setting  up  effortful  endeavour  in  imitation  of  like  behaviour  in  those  about 


112  ETHICS 

many  things  can  be  done  by  putting  forth  effort  that  can- 
not be  done  otherwise,  and  this  means  that  effort  becomes 
his  great  resource  when  his  desires  are  difiBcult  of  attain- 
ment. And  another  result  of  equal  moment  is  the  child's 
discovery  of  the  surpassing  satisfaction  of  achievement. 
He  learns  what  it  is  to  bend  his  energies  to  a  purpose 
and  to  succeed,  something  that  he  has  never  experienced 
before.  And  his  voluntary  actions  thus  become  pecul- 
iarly luminous  and  prophetic  to  him.  His  other  actions 
are  blind.  He  finds  himself  doing  something,  and  finds 
that  some  result  follows.  But  his  voluntary  actions  are 
not  blind.  They  have  a  reason,  a  purpose,  an  intelligible 
design.  Formerly  he  found  himself  uttering  sounds,  and 
thereupon  found  others  giving  him  pleasant  experiences 
and  attending  to  his  wants.  Now  he  tells  his  nurse  to 
bring  him  what  he  wants,  and  immediately  it  is  brought. 
Formerly  he  found  himself  copying  a  drawing  with  some 
closeness,  and  the  result  was  pleasing.  Now  he  under- 
takes to  reproduce  the  drawing,  and  a  better  copy  follows. 
His  deeds  become  luminous  and  intelligible.  Effort  is 
called  out  by  the  foreseen  result  that  motives  the  action, 
and  when  the  result  is  attained  it  furnishes  a  sufficient 
reason  for  the  effort.  The  child  can  understand  trying 
for  such  an  end. 

The  Ejeetive  Stage.  —  And  about  simultaneous  with  the 
subjective  stage  is  the  ejeetive  stage.  The  voluntary 
deeds  of  other  people  also  become  to  some  extent  luminous 
to  the  child.  They  act  so  and  so  because  an  idea  has 
occurred  to  them,  that  moves  them  to  act  as  they  do,  and 
the  child  understands  because  the  idea  would  incite  him 
to  similar  actions.  They  are  acting  from  this  or  that 
motive  that  has  stimulated  him  also  to  intentional  action. 
He  has  experienced  agency  in  himself,  and  he  understands 

him  ?  Of  course  he  cannot  do  so  until  his  centres  are  ripe  for  the  reac- 
tions inyolved,  but  neither  can  he  imitatively  stand  erect  till  his  centres 
are  ripe  for  that  performance. 


BIRTH  AND  GROWTH  OF  CONSCIENCE  IN  THE  CHILD     113 

how  others  can  act  as  intelligent  agents.  "The  psycho- 
logical importance  of  imitation  lies  largely  in  the  fact  that 
in  80  far  as  the  child  imitates,  he  gets  ideas  about  the  inner 
meaning  or  intent  of  the  deeds  that  he  imitates,  and  so 
gets  acquainted  with  what  he  early  finds  to  be  the  minds 
of  other  people.  .  .  .  The  child  that  uses  scissors,  pencil, 
or  other  tools  after  you,  learns,  as  he  imitates,  what  cutting 
means,  and  what  drawing,  or  other  such  doings.  And  as 
he  learns,  he  gets  presented  to  his  own  consciousness  con- 
tents, which  he  regards  as  standing  for  those  of  your  mind. 
The  experienced  interesting  outcome  of  an  imitated  deed, 
is  for  the  child  the  obvious  meaning  of  that  deed,  to  you, 
as  you  did  it.  But  he  does  not  get  these  contents  very 
easily.  He  gets  them  by  persistently  watching  you,  lis- 
tening to  you,  plapng  with  you,  trying  to  be  like  you, 
all  activities  that  for  him  involve  muscular  sensations, 
emotional  concerns,  and  still  other  variations  of  his  com- 
mon sensibility."  *  In  a  word,  in  this  the  third  stage,  the 
child  ejects,  throws  out  the  inner  or  psychic  parts,  the 
purposive  parts  of  the  actions  he  performs  after  you,  or  has 
performed  before  you,  adds  them  to  your  body,  which 
before  was  merely  an  object  projected  into  space,  and 
attributes  these  purposive,  psychic  parts  of  the  actions  to 
you  as  contents  of  your  mind. 

The  results  so  far  can  be  summed  up  in  a  sentence. 
Fascinated  by  puzzling  agents,  the  child  imitates  them, 
becomes  an  intelligent  agent,  and  then  ejects  his  sense  of 
agency  and  purpose,  and  thus  understands  his  puzzles. 

The  Various  Agents.  —  But  it  would  be  a  great  mistake 
at  this  point  to  suppose  that  because  the  child  is  a  volun- 
tary agent  in  a  few  things,  in  a  ridiculously  small  number 
of  things,  therefore  he  understands  all  kinds  of  agents  and 
actions.  He  has  only  the  scantest  ideas  of  what  agents 
can  do  and  how  they  go  about  doing  these  things.  Only 
the  smallest  number  of  ends  does  he  seek  voluntarily  to 

iRoyce,  Ptych.  Bev.,  September,  1896. 


114  ETHICS 

attain,  for  he  has  no  idea  what  to  try  for.  Even  mature 
men  but  seldom  think  out  the  ends  they  seek  to  attain ; 
very  nearly  all  their  ends  are  suggested  to  them.  And 
at  the  tender  age  under  consideration,  the  child  has  not 
learned  to  think,  and  even  if  he  could  think  out  what 
is  worth  striving  for,  he  would  have  no  idea  of  how  to 
go  about  accomplishing  it.  Before  the  child  can  know 
much  about  agents  and  agency,  he  must  practise  being  an 
agent  for  a  long  time,  and  in  many  and  various  ways. 
And  he  gets  the  further  practice,  not  out  of  his  inner 
consciousness,  but  precisely  as  he  got  the  first  impulsion 
to  begin  his  career  as  an  agent,  namely,  by  following  the 
example  of  those  who  have  experience  in  the  matter  of 
agency.  Probably  the  last  of  the  main  types  of  agency 
that  the  child  learns  is  the  type  of  moral  agency.  Be- 
fore learning  that,  he  learns  to  be  what  Professor  Baldwin 
calls  an  aggressive  agent,  a  submissive  agent,  and  a  social 
agent. 

The  Aggressive  and  the  Submissive  Selves.  —  The  child 
learns  voluntary  actions  one  by  one,  and  understands  the 
voluntary  actions  of  others  only  in  so  far  as  he  has  per- 
formed like  actions.  And  this  means  that  there  are  some 
actions  of  others  that  he  has  performed  and  therefore 
understands,  and  some  that  he  has  not  performed  and 
cannot  understand.  On  the  basis  of  the  former  is  built  up 
the  aggressive  self,  on  the  basis  of  the  latter,  the  submissive 
self. 

At  first  the  child  does  not  discriminate  moods  and 
occasions.  Towards  some  of  his  fellows  he  is  always 
aggressive,  e.g.  towards  his  little  brother  or  sister ; 
towards  others  he  is  always  submissive,  e.g.  towards  his 
father  or  big  brother.  The  former  he  teaches  and  leads ; 
he  performs  the  actions  and  they  imitate,  he  points  the 
way  and  they  follow.  He  is  more  of  an  agent  than  they 
are,  and  he  knows  and  can  do  many  feats  of  agency  that 
they  do  not  know  and  cannot  do.      From  the  latter  he 


BIKTII  AND  GROWTH  OF  CONSCIENCE  IN  THE  CHILD     115 

learns  ;  they  lead  and  he  follows.  They  appeal  to  him  as 
more  finished  agents,  and  by  imitating  them  he  learns 
more  and  more  how  to  become  an  agent.  In  all  this  the 
child  is,  of  course,  not  very  different  from  older  people ; 
few  of  us  are  so  submissive  that  we  do  not  find  some  one 
to  dominate,  and  few  are  so  aggressive  as  never  to  be 
mastered  and  to  know  it.  "  If,"  says  Professor  Baldwin, 
speaking  of  the  child,  "  the  other  person  involved  presents 
uncertain,  ominous,  dominating,  instructive  features,  or 
novel  imitative  features,  then  the  self  is  'subject'  over 
against  what  is  projective.  His  consciousness  is  in  the 
learning  attitude ;  he  imitates,  he  serves,  he  trembles,  he 
is  a  slave.  But  on  the  other  hand,  there  are  persons  to 
whom  his  attitude  has  a  right  to  be  different.  He  has 
mastered  all  their  features,  he  can  do  himself  what  they 
do,  he  anticipates  no  new  developments  in  his  intercourse 
with  them.  .  .  .  This  is  what  the  brothers  and  sisters, 
notably  the  younger  ones,  are  to  our  youthful  hero.  They 
are  his  "  ejects  " ;  he  knows  them  by  heart,  they  have  no 
thoughts,  they  do  no  deeds,  which  he  could  not  have  read 
into  them  by  interpretation.  So  he  despises  them,  prac- 
tises his  superior  activities  on  them,  tramples  them  under 
foot."i 

But  later  the  child  comes  to  discriminate  moods  and 
occasions.  In  his  fuller  intercourse  with  people,  he  finds 
with  many  of  them  that  sometimes  he  can  dominate  and 
be  leader,  while  sometimes  he  is  dominated  and  must 
follow.  "  Sometimes  he  tyrannizes  over  his  mother  and 
finds  her  helpless:  at  other  times  he  finds  her  far  from 
submitting  to  tyranny,  and  then  he  takes  the  rdle  of 
learner  and  obedient  boy."^  And  this  new  experience 
of  agency  the  child  ejects  into  others.  Being  sometimes 
aggressive  and  sometimes  submissive,  he  comes  to  under- 
stand that  others  are  sometimes  the  one  and  sometimes 
the  other.     And  he  acquires  skill  in  adjusting  himself  to 

^Interpretations,  7.  'Baldwin,  op.  cit.  10. 


116  ETHICS 

the  occasions  and  situations  when  those  about  him  are  the 
one  or  the  other. 

But  as  yet,  as  should  be  clearly  understood,  the  child  is 
neither  egoistic  nor  altruistic.  He  does  not  seek  his  own 
advantage,  on  the  one  hand,  nor  the  advantage  of  others, 
on  the  other  hand.  No  doubt  to  superficial  observation  it 
seems  that  the  inconsiderate,  self-assertive  boy  is  selfish, 
while  the  imitative,  docile,  and  obedient  boy  is  unselfish. 
But  the  former  is  rather  like  the  fierce  dog,  and  the  latter 
like  the  obedient  dog.  It  is  as  far  from  true  that  all  sub- 
missive conduct  advantages  others,  as  it  is  that  all  self-confi- 
dent and  aggressive  conduct  advantages  only  the  self.  Each 
sometimes  serves  self,  sometimes  serves  others,  and  some- 
times serves  both.  Besides,  and  this  is  more  to  the  point, 
the  child  neither  reflectively  aims  at  serving  self  nor  at 
serving  others.  He  has  not  as  yet  generalized  the  idea  of 
himself  and  his  profit,  nor  the  idea  of  others  and  their 
profit.  The  situation  is  very  much  simpler  and  more 
spontaneous  than  any  such  interpretation  would  make  it 
appear.  The  aggressive  boy  who  drives  his  little  brother 
with  string  reins  has  as  little  thought  of  serving  his  own 
interests  as  the  little  brother  has  of  serving  his  elder's 
pleasure.  Such  calculation  is  foreign  to  both.  They 
are  natural  and  spontaneous  children,  without  foresight 
of  ulterior  advantage  in  either  direction.  Their  state  of 
mind  is  rather  similar  to  the  quite  pagan  irresponsibility 
that  is  more  frequently  found  among  Oriental  peoples,  the 
flavour  of  which  is  often  found  in  the  Arabian  Nights. 
To-day  the  hero  is  a  slave  doing  his  lord's  will  quite 
naturally  and  as  a  matter  of  course :  to-morrow  he  is  an 
irresponsible  despot  himself,  quite  as  naturally  and  spon- 
taneously ruling  his  people  according  to  his  own  caprices. 
Of  course  the  likeness  is  not  complete,  but  it  is  at  least 
true  that  the  Oriental  is  more  frankly  and  naturally 
aggressive  and  servile  than  the  Occidental,  and  that 
emphasis    will   indicate   the  complete  naturalness  of  the 


BIRTH  AND  GROWTH  OF  CONSCIENCE  IN  THE  CHILD     117 

child  in  both  directions.  He  imposes  his  will,  or  he  yields 
to  the  will  of  another ;  that  is  all.  Ulterior  motive  he  has 
none. 

The  Social  Self.^  —  A  few  words  about  the  social  self  are 
called  for,  as  it  might  easily  be  confused  with  the  moral 
self,  to  be  described  presently.  The  child  is  the  heir  of  a 
social  race,  and  is  surrounded  by  social  beings,  grouped 
into  various  associations.  And  to  some  of  these  associa- 
tions the  child  soon  finds  that  he  also  belongs,  e.g.  to  the 
family,  to  the  school,  to  the  street  or  neighbourhood  where 
he  lives,  to  his  community,  to  his  country.  In  view  of 
this  membership,  and  partly  because  of  his  social  inheri- 
tance, partly  because  of  his  attachment  to  these  bodies,  and 
partly  because  of  the  customs  of  class  solidarity  common  to 
the  members  of  these  associations,  the  child  soon  learns 
to  act  in  social  ways  and  fashions.  In  each  of  the  groups, 
members  act  towards  each  other  in  accordance  with  well- 
established  customs,  assisting,  obeying,  controlling,  and 
acting  together  when  outsiders,  who  are  not  members  of 
the  group,  are  present.  His  older  brother  protects  him 
from  the  boys  at  school ;  the  boy  on  his  street  protects  him 
from  the  butcher  boy  ;  and  so  with  the  boy  from  his  town 
when  they  are  away  from  home  during  the  summer.  These 
and  many  other  modes  of  social  behaviour  the  boy  imitates, 
and  thus  he  slowly  learns  that  actions  may  be  neither 
aggressive  nor  submissive,  but  cooperative,  or  at  any  rate 
social.  And  having  attained  to  this  experience,  once 
more  he  ejects  it,  and  thus  comes  in  proper  order  to  under- 
stand social  behaviour  in  others.  In  all  this  there  is  as  yet 
no  moral  action.  His  little  brother,  or  schoolmate,  even  his 
dog  may  richly  deserve  a  thrashing ;  but  the  brother,  or 
schoolmate,  or  dog  is  his,  and  he  does  not  intend  that  they 
shall  be  interfered  with.     He  does  not  justify  himself,  or 

1  The  account  here  given  of  the  social  self  is  different  from  that  given 
by  Professor  Baldwin,  omitting  his  main  points,  and  incorporating  much 
for  which  he  is  not  responsible.     Cf.  Interpretations^  14,  15. 


118  ETHICS 

ask  whether  there  is  any  justification.  He  does  not  feel 
or  think  that  his  opponent  is  in  error  or  unjustified.  Such 
questions  simply  do  not  arise  at  this  stage.  It  is  natural  for 
the  child  to  act  after  this  social  fashion,  and  so  he  acts. 

§  3.    Birth  of  the  Moral  Agent 

But  while  understanding  aggressive,  submissive,  and 
social  action,  there  is  one  important  field  of  action  that  the 
child  does  not  yet  understand.  The  central  fact  of  per- 
sonal character,  the  fact  of  self-control,  is  still  a  mystery 
to  him.  His  father  in  wrath,  his  mother  in  compliance, 
his  brother  in  cooperation,  he  understands,  but  when  those 
about  him  forego  their  desires  and  practise  their  aversions, 
then  he  is  mystified.  About  the  beginning  of  the  third 
year  the  child's  puzzled  condition  can  easily  be  observed. 
He  seems  to  sense  something  reasonable  in  the  moral  con- 
duct of  others,  but  he  cannot  quite  see  into  their  motives. 
In  the  words  of  Professor  Baldwin  :  "  He  sees  the  father 
pained  when  he  has  to  administer  punishment ;  and  hears 
the  words,  '  Father  does  not  like  to  punish  his  little  boy  I  * 
He  finds  his  mother  reluctantly  refusing  to  give  a  biscuit 
when  it  is  her  evident  desire  to  give  it.  He  sees  those 
about  him  doing  gay  things  with  heavy  hearts,  and  forc- 
ing themselves  to  be  cheerful  in  the  doing  of  things 
which  are  not  pleasant.  He  sees  hesitations,  conflicts,  in- 
decisions, and  from  the  bosom  of  them  all  he  sees  emerge 
the  indications  of  something  beyond  the  mere  individual 
attitudes  of  the  actor,  something  which  stands  towards 
these  higher  persons  from  whom  he  learns,  as  the  family 
law,  embodied  possibly  in  the  father,  stands  towards  him."  * 
In  short,  the  essence  of  the  situation  is,  that  his  elders  are 
subject  to  a  command  or  rule  in  action,  and  yet  that  they 
are  freely  subject  thereto.  They  hold  themselves  to  some 
way  of  acting,  they  exercise  self-control.  Acts  such  as 
these  the  child  has  never  performed,  and  they  puzzle  him» 
*  Interpretations,  22. 


BIRTH  AND  GROWTH  OF  CONSCIENCE  IN  THE  CHILD     119 

That  there  is  a  rule,  that  it  is  freely  followed,  what  it  is  in 
detail,  he  comes  to  see  only  very  gradually ;  indeed,  even 
some  distance  up  into  maturity  he  can  see  it  only  most 
imperfectly.  How  then  does  the  child  come  to  learn  these 
actions,  and  to  get  the  light  that  performing  them  gives  ? 
The  answer  is,  that  he  learns  partly  through  obedience, 
and  partly  through  imitation,  as  will  be  at  once  developed. 
Obedience.  —  In  the  first  place,  the  hard  lessons  of  obedi- 
ence shake  the  child  out  of  his  spontaneous  innocency  and 
teach  him  another  way  of  acting.  Instead  of  always  doing 
the  things  that  have  become  natural  to  him  as  practised 
habits  that  he  confidently  performs,  or  else  giving  way  to 
the  fascination  of  learning  the  interesting  novelties  sug- 
gested by  others,  he  must  "  mind  "  not  to  do  those  things, 
but  to  do  others  to  which  he  is  impelled  by  the  many 
influences  surrounding  the  act  of  obedience.  And  little 
by  little  he  does  learn  to  hold  in  check  the  actions  that, 
at  different  times,  his  aggressive,  his  submissive,  or  his 
social  self  wants  to  perform ;  with  the  consequence  that 
this  obedient  self  grows  strong  in  various  directions  at  the 
expense  of  the  other  three.  And  this  growth  in  the  habit 
of  obedience  is  a  growth  in  the  power  of  self-control,  and  a 
growth  in  appreciation  of  the  possibilities  of  agency.  Very 
plainly  a  growth  in  the  latter  direction,  for  the  child  is 
made  to  do  many  things  that  it  would  never  occur  to  him 
to  do  if  left  to  his  own  initiative  alone,  and  being  made  to 
do  them  he  learns  to  know  the  actions  through  experi- 
ence, and  likewise  to  know  the  consequences  that  flow 
from  the  actions.  Nor  is  it  difficult  to  see  that  every  act 
of  obedience  is  an  act  of  self-control,  or  at  least  that 
every  obedient  act  the  child  is  disinclined  to  perform  is. 
In  the  absence  of  parents  and  others  in  authority,  the 
child  does  many  things  in  obedience  to  them,  and  there 
the  case  is  plain  for  self-control.  But  even  when  parents 
are  present  it  is  but  seldom  that  they  enforce  actions  by 
physical  compulsion ;  rather  it  is  by  authority  and  "  moral  '* 


120  ETHICS 

force  that  they  insure  obedience,  and  then  the  obeying 
child  must  hold  himself  to  the  actions  against  his  inclina- 
tions. In  view  of  the  inculcation  of  the  power  of  self- 
control  and  of  a  wider  appreciation  of  the  possibilities  of 
satisfactory  agency,  it  may  be,  as  Professor  Baldwin  seems 
to  hold,  that  obedience  alone  is  competent  to  build  up 
conscience  in  the  child.  For  while  the  child  feels  obliged 
to  perform  the  acts  commanded,  he  also  in  many  cases  per- 
forms them  with  free  inclination,  from  having  learned, 
through  experience,  their  reasonableness,  and  the  satisfac- 
tion they  bring  in.  And  these  two  feelings  —  compulsion 
and  inclination  —  are  very  like  those  distinguished  in 
obligation  :  the  feeling  of  pressure  from  without,  and  the 
feeling  of  inclination  from  within.  But  fortunately  it  is 
not  necessary  to  decide  whether  obedience  alone  would 
build  up  conscience,  for  imitation  is  a  vera  causa  in  build- 
ing up  experience  of  agency  in  general,  and  is  equally  a 
factor  in  building  up  experience  of  moral  agency. 

Imitation. — A  set  of  experiences  that  contributes 
largely  to  the  establishment  of  conscience  in  the  child 
consists  of  his  imitations  of  others  in  responsible  moods. 
When  any  one  is  in  such  a  mood,  his  body  is  in  a  charac- 
teristic attitude  and  in  characteristic  movement,  his  face 
and  eye  have  a  given  expression,  his  voice  has  a  certain 
ring,  and  so  with  the  other  elements  constituting  the 
bodily  counterpart  of  feeling.  And  of  course,  owing  to 
his  interest  in  persons,  it  is  to  just  such  bodily  happen- 
ings as  these  that  the. child  responds  most  sensitively  in 
the  way  of  imitation.  His  body  copies,  at  least  in  incipi- 
ent adjustments  and  tensions,  the  bodily  states  of  the 
responsible-feeling  other,  and  the  child  accordingly  gets 
the  other's  feelings  or  emotions.  From  such  imitations,  by 
themselves  or  in  conjunction  with  acts  of  obedience,  the 
child  probably  gets  his  first  inkling  of  the  conscientious 
mood. 

But  imitation  comes  into  even  greater  play  in  childish 


BIRTH  AND  GROWTH  OF  CONSCIENCE  IN  THE  CHILD     121 

games,  and  on  more  serious  occasions,  when  the  child 
plays  the  part  of  its  elders.  At  such  times  the  child 
effortfully  strains  at  being  its  imitated  elders  at  every 
point,  and  sometimes,  as  in  the  following  situation  de- 
scribed by  Professor  Baldwin,  a  child  voluntarily  assumes 
responsibility  or  plays  the  role  of  a  child,  and  so  exercises 
self-control  or  obeys  quite  spontaneously,  instead  of  being 
made  to  do  so :  — 

"  On  May  2,  I  was  sitting  on  the  porch  alone  with  the 
children,  .  .  .  aged  respectively  four  and  a  half  and  two 
and  a  half  years.  Helen,  the  elder,  told  Elizabeth  that 
she  was  her  little  baby ;  that  is,  Helen  became  '  mama,' 
and  Elizabeth  '  baby.'  The  younger  responded  by  calling 
her  sister  '  mama,'  and  the  play  began. 

"*You  have  been  asleep,  baby.  Now  it  is  time  to  get 
up,'  said  mama.  Baby  rose  from  the  floor,  — first  falling 
down  in  order  to  rise,  —  was  seized  upon  by  'mama,' 
taken  to  the  railing  to  an  imaginary  washstand,  and  her 
face  washed  by  rubbing.  Her  articles  of  clothing  were 
then  named  in  imagination,  and  put  on,  one  by  one,  in 
the  most  detailed  and  interesting  fashion.  During  all  this, 
'mama'  kept  up  a  stream  of  baby  talk  to  her  infant: 
'  Now  your  stockings,  my  darling ;  now  your  skirt, 
sweetness  —  or,  no  —  not  yet  —  your  shoes  first,'  etc. 
etc.  Baby  acceded  to  all  the  details  with  more  than  the 
docility  which  real  infants  usually  show.  When  this  was 
done,  '  Now  we  must  go  tell  papa  good-morning,  dearie,' 
said  mama.  '  Yes,  mama,'  came  the  reply ;  and  hand  in 
hand  they  started  to  find  papa.  I,  the  spectator,  carefully 
read  my  newspaper,  thinking,  however,  that  the  reality  of 
papa,  seeing  that  he  was  so  much  in  evidence,  would 
break  in  upon  the  imagined  situation.  But  not  so. 
Mama  led  her  baby  directly  past  me  to  the  end  of  the 
piazza,  to  a  column  in  the  corner.  '  There's  papa,'  said 
mama  ;  '  now  tell  him  good-morning.'  — '  Good-morning, 
papa ;  I   am   very   well,'   said   baby,  bowing  low  to  the 


122  ETHICS 

column.  '  That's  good,'  said  mama,  in  a  gruff^  low  voice^ 
which  caused  in  the  real  papa  a  thrill  of  amused  self-con- 
sciousness most  difficult  to  contain.  '  Now  you  must  have 
your  breakfast,'  said  mama.  The  seat  of  a  chair  was 
made  a  breakfast  table,  the  baby's  feigned  bib  put  on, 
and  her  porridge  carefully  administered,  with  all  the  man- 
ner of  the  nurse  who  usually  directs  their  breakfast. 
'  Now '  (after  the  meal,  which  suddenly  became  dinner 
instead  of  breakfast),  *you  must  take  your  nap,'  said 
mama.  '  No,  mama  ;  I  don't  want  to,'  said  baby.  '  But 
you  must.'  —  '  No ;  you  be  baby,  and  take  the  nap.'  — 
*  But  all  the  other  children  have  gone  to  sleep,  dearest, 
and  the  doctor  says  you  musty^  said  mama.  This  con- 
vinced baby,  and  she  lay  down  on  the  floor.  'But  I 
haven't  undressed  you.'  So  then  came  all  the  detail 
of  undressing ;  and  mama  carefully  covered  her  up  on 
the  floor  with  a  light  shawl,  saying,  'Spring  is  coming 
now;  that'll  be  enough.  Now  shut  your  eyes  and  go  to 
sleep.' — 'But  you  haven't  kissed  me,  mama,'  said  the 
little  one.  '  Oh,  of  course,  my  darling  ! '  —  So  a  long 
siege  of  kissing !  Then  baby  closed  her  eyes  very  tight, 
while  mama  went  on  tiptoe  to  the  end  of  the  porch. 
'  Don't  go  away,  mama,'  said  baby.  '  No ;  mama  wouldn't 
leave  her  darling,'  came  the  reply.  .  .  . 

"  How  rich  the  lessons  from  such  a  simple  scene  as 
this !  As  for  Helen,  what  could  be  a  more  direct  lesson 
—  a  lived-out  exercise  in  sympathy,  in  altruistic  self- 
denial,  in  the  healthy  elevation  of  her  sense  of  self  to 
the  dignity  of  kindly  offices,  in  the  sense  of  responsibility 
and  agency,  in  the  stimulus  to  oiiginal  effort  and  the 
designing  of  means  to  ends — and  all  of  it  with  the  best 
sense  of  the  objectivity  which  is  quite  lost  in  wretched 
self-consciousness  in  us  adults,  when  we  personate  other 
characters?  What  could  further  all  this  highest  mental 
growth  better  than  the  game  by  which  the  lessons  of  her 
mother's  daily  life  are  read  into  the   child's  little  self? 


BIRTH  AND  GROWTH  OF  CONSCIENCE  IN  THE  CHILD     123 

And  then,  in  the  case  of  Elizabeth,  certain  things  appear. 
She  obeys  without  command  or  sanction,  she  takes  in 
from  her  sister  the  elements  of  personal  suggestion  in 
their  simpler  childish  forms  ;  and  certainly  such  scenes, 
repeated  every  day  with  such  variation  of  detail,  must 
give  something  of  the  sense  of  variety  and  social  equality 
which  real  life  afterwards  confirms  and  proceeds  upon  ; 
and  lessons  of  the  opposite  character  are  learned  by  the 
same  process."  ^ 

Nothing  is  more  helpful  in  developing  the  child's  moral 
nature  than  games  that  involve  moral  situations.  Not  only 
are  the  moral  emotions  of  the  responsibility  and  approval 
groups  called  into  healthy  exercise  at  the  time  of  playing 
the  games,  but  thus  naturally  aroused,  they  are  ready  to 
illuminate  all  the  situations  in  which  obedience  is  exacted, 
and  thus  to  turn  slavishness  into  duty.  And  what  is  said 
of  games  applies  of  coui"se  to  any  experience  in  which  the 
child  is  led  to  imitate  the  moral  behaviour  of  its  elders  to 
children  and  to  one  another.  On  the  other  hand,  compul- 
sion through  obedience  helpfully  strengthens,  extends,  and 
enlightens  the  teachings  of  imitation,  suggesting  to  the 
child  many  actions  that  unaided  it  would  have  undertaken 
only  much  later,  exercising  his  self-control,  and  direct- 
ing his  attention  to  less  evident  features  of  the  situations 
in  which  he  finds  himself.  Obedience  without  imitation 
would  lead  to  the  inflexible,  unprogressive  form  of  moral- 
ity, in  which  prescribed  actions,  if  performed  at  all  in  the 
absence  of  constraint,  would  be  performed  with  neither 
understanding  nor  devotion ;  imitation  without  obedience 
would  fail  to  develop  the  self-control  necessary  to  curb 
strong  inborn  bent,  and  would  lead  to  undisciplined  eccen- 
tricity, often  amounting  to  moral  crankiness.  For  healthy 
moral  development,  both  together  in  due  measure  seem 
to  be  necessary,  —  both  good  example  and  wholesome 
compulsion. 

*  Mental  Development,  pp.  362-365. 


124  ETHICS 

§  4.   The  Effect  of  Temperament  on  Conscience 

From  what  has  been  said  so  far  it  might  be  supposed 
that  the  child's  moral  nature  is  entirely  plastic  under  the 
influence  of  obedience  and  imitation,  that  what  any  child's 
conscience  was  to  be  in  after  life  would  depend  wholly  on 
the  obedience  that  was  exacted  of  him  and  the  examples 
given  him  to  imitate.  Against  such  a  conclusion  all  our 
ordinary  experiences  and  prepossessions  rebel.  We  are 
well  convinced  that  as  a  matter  of  inborn  disposition  chil- 
dren differ  radically,  and  that  obedience  and  imitation  can 
only  modify  what  is  inborn.  Not  of  wholly  plastic  material, 
as  we  think,  is  the  child's  moral  nature  made,  but  of  ma- 
terial that  is  in  part  stubborn,  with  a  character  of  its  own. 
And  this  common-sense  view  is  supported  by  the  more 
careful  observations  of  science,  as  may  now  be  briefly 
shown. 

Turning  first  to  the  analogy  of  the  non-moral  emotions 
for  assistance,  it  is  apparent  on  very  slight  reflection  that 
different  people  are  quite  differently  endowed  with  them 
by  nature.  Well  recognized  in  fact  are  the  different  tem- 
peraments, the  irascible  being  easily  stirred  to  anger,  the 
vindictive  to  revenge,  the  melancholy  to  depression,  the 
sanguine  to  hope,  the  affectionate  to  kindly  feeling,  etc. 
In  a  word,  so  far  as  the  non-moral  emotions  are  con- 
cerned, it  appears  that  their  being  aroused  is  very  largely 
a  matter  of  inborn  disposition.  Imitation  and  obedience, 
education  by  example  and  precept,  can  only  with  the  great- 
est difficulty  counteract  what  is  "bred  in  the  bone,"  or 
rather  in  the  nervous,  the  vascular,  in  general  in  the 
bodily  system.  Nor  does  there  seem  to  be  any  reason  for 
holding  that  the  moral  feelings  follow  any  other  rule. 
As  regards  the  minor  moral  emotions  there  is  no  difficulty. 
Some  men  are  born  with  a  high  sense  of  justice ;  indeed, 
such  a  sense  seems  to  be  a  natural  possession  in  certain 
families.      Others  are  similarly  disposed  towards  truths 


BIRTH  AND  GROWTH  OF  CONSCIENCE  IN  THE  CHILD    125 

honesty,  temperance,  or  benevolence,  etc.  No  doubt  it 
would  be  difficult  to  give  with  precision  the  evidence  on 
which  these  statements  rest,  but  that  is  not  necessary,  as 
the  statements  are  not  likely  to  be  disputed.  What  the 
relative  importance  of.  nature  and  nurture  is,  it  would  be 
difficult  if  not  impossible  to  say,  but  that  each  is  impor- 
tant and  has  influence  is  too  plain  to  be  discussed.^ 

Nor,  with  the  non-moral  and  minor  moral  emotions  so 
largely  dependent  on  temperament,  does  it  seem  necessary 
to  say  much  regarding  the  universal  moral  emotions  of  the 
responsibility  and  approval  groups.  At  the  basis  of  these 
too  there  are  particular  bodily  processes  that  some  nervous 
systems  are  much  more  ready  to  set  up  than  are  others. 
And  again,  it  is  the  non-moral  feelings  and  inclinations 
first  above  suggested,  that  conscience  has  to  control,  and  if 
they  vary,  the  control  that  conscience  can  exercise  over 
them  must  vary  also.  All  emotions,  then,  as  we  may  gen- 
eralize, depend  partly  on  nature  and  partly  on  nurture. 
What  shall  be  the  amount  and  direction  of  the  influence 
upon  the  moral  nature  of  the  child  who  is  called  upon  to 
obey,  or  is  incited  to  imitate,  will  accordingly  depend 
partly  upon  the  acts  to  be  obediently  or  imitatively  done, 
but  partly  also  upon  the  inborn  moral  bent  of  the  child. 

§  5.     The  Development  of  Conscience 

The  discussion  so  far  has  dealt  with  the  birth  of  con- 
science in  the  child,  and  with  the  three  factors,  tempera- 
ment, obedience,  and  imitation,  that  determine  the  condi- 
tions under  which  and  the  form  in  which  conscience  shall 
appear.  It  is  now  necessary  to  discover  how  conscience 
comes  to  develop  into  the  psychic  possession  described  in 
a  former  chapter. 

It  should  be  said  at  once  that  it  is  only  very  gradually 
that  conscience  becomes  organized  and  systematized  into 

*  Cf.  Hodgson,  Theory  of  Practice,  Bk.  I,  Ch.  IV.  One  of  the  types  of 
character  described  is  the  duty-loving  with  its  "  passion  of  morality.'* 


126  ETHICS 

a  unity.  At  first  it  is  a  mere  chaos  of  ideas  of  action  and 
impulses  to  action,  with  little,  if  any,  interconnection.  But 
there  are  two  main  forces  at  work  that  aid  in  bringing  some 
measure  of  order  out  of  this  chaos.  For,  in  the  first  place, 
all  moral  actions  have  much  the  same  emotional  basis.  In 
all  of  them  feelings  of  the  responsibility  and  of  the  ap- 
proval groups  appear,  and  in  all  of  them  there  is  the  sense 
of  the  double  warrant,  social  and  individual.  Again,  the 
favourable  and  the  unfavourable  feelings  divide  moral  phe- 
nomena into  the  good  and  the  bad,  while  lesser  moral 
feelings  tend  to  systematize  them  into  the  just,  the  tem- 
perate, the  brave,  the  honest,  etc.  And,  in  the  second 
place,  later  on,  when  the  child  comes  to  talk,  think,  and 
discuss,  questions  of  morality  are  likely  to  be  of  no  little 
interest  to  him,  especially  when  the  social  forces  of  his 
nature  spring  up  in  strength  about  his  fourteenth  year. 
And  this  thinking  and  discussion  and  observation  of  the 
terminology,  ideas,  and  practices  of  others  helps  the  child 
to  some  comprehension  of  the  system  of  morality.  He 
hears  of  good  and  bad,  of  right  and  wrong,  and  he  hears 
that  benevolence,  lying,  temperance,  dishonesty  fall  in 
either  class,  etc.  All  this  helps  to  work  together  into 
some  unity,  if  not  into  much  system,  —  there  is  little  sys- 
tem in  most  consciences,  at  least  little  conscious  system,  — 
his  moral  feelings  and  ideas.  There  is  much  disorder  when 
maturity  is  reached,  but  his  conscience  is  not  all  disorder. 

No  words  need  be  wasted  to  show  how  conscience  comes 
to  be  made  up  of  ideas  of  agents  in  action.  Since  it  is  in 
doing  what  is  commanded  and  in  imitating  moral  agency 
that  conscience  is  born  and  develops,  no  other  result  is 
possible.  Equally  unnecessary  is  it  to  discuss  the  dynamic 
character  of  conscience. 

A  fourth  characteristic  of  conscience,  as  described,  is 
that  it  is  schematic,  and  the  reason  for  that  can  now  easily 
be  shown.  The  child,  namely,  never  fully  learns  the  pos- 
sibilities of  moral  agency,  any  more  than  he  does  the  possi- 


BIRTH  AND  GROWTH  OF  CONSCIENCE  IN  THE  CHILD    127 

bilities  of  aggressive,  submissive,  or  social  agency.  The 
more  puzzles  are  solved,  the  more  open  up  for  solution. 
The  goal  retreats  before  the  runner;  there  is  always  a 
large  residuum  that  remains  puzzling  still.  And  what  is 
true  of  these  earlier  selves  is  even  more  emphatically  true 
of  the  moral  self.  Certain  types  of  moral  action  he  per- 
forms, and  thus  he  experiences  what  it  is  to  perform  them, 
and  he  comes  to  know  their  names,  and  with  it  all  he  be- 
comes familiar  with  them.  But  there  is  much  in  the  realm 
of  morality  that  he  has  not  performed,  much  that  he  has 
not  classified,  much  that  he  has  not  even  an  idea  of.  Try 
as  he  will  to  do  the  things  called  "  right,"  or  "  duty,"  or 
"good,"  and  try  as  he  will  to  learn  what  they  are,  the 
child  can  never  quite  succeed  in  achieving  them,  nor  does 
he  fully  know  what  they  are.  And  if  it  be  asked  how 
then  the  child  comes  to  think  at  all  of  these  actions  that 
he  does  not  know,  the  answer  must  be  that  he  thinks  of 
them  as  he  thinks  of  other  "projective  selves."  Just  as 
similar  non-moral  actions  are  thought  of  as  the  actions 
that  other  wiser  and  more  competent  leaders,  followers, 
and  socii  can  perform,  just  so  unfathomed  moral  actions 
are  thought  of  as  the  actions  of  wiser  and  more  capable 
moral  agents.  Whatever  good  conduct  he  has  learned,  he 
has  learned  from  others  as  that  which  they  do  and  want 
him  to  do,  and  again  he  must  think  of  this  higher  reach  of 
morality  as  that  performed  and  known  by  good  and  wise 
persons ;  in  no  other  terms  is  it  possible  to  think  of  more 
action  of  the  same  kind.  What  the  child  does  not  do  and 
know,  his  mother  or  his  father  does  and  knows,  and  he  is 
to  be  like  them.  And  later,  when  the  limitations  of  father 
and  mother  are  discovered,  he  conceives  of  the  larger 
stretch  of  morality  of  which  he  is  ignorant  as  embodied  in 
his  teacher,  in  his  friend  in  life  or  in  literature,  in  the 
seers,  prophets,  and  leaders  of  men  throughout  the  ages. 
And  when  all  these  are  found  to  be  fallible  and  of  sadly 
limited  knowledge  and  experience,  he  thinks  of  genuine 


128  ETHICS 

morality  as  embodied  only  in  the  all  wise  and  benevolent 
Deity. 

From  all  this  it  is  evident  that  at  all  stages  of  develop- 
ment there  are  two  parts  to  conscience,  the  relatively  clear 
and  the  relatively  obscure,  the  code  element  and  the  ideal 
element,  in  the  narrower  sense  of  the  latter  word,  the  first 
part  consisting  of  a  body  of  laws  specifying  and  describing 
actions  and  abstinences,  and  the  vaguer  ideal  part  con- 
sisting of  the  largely  undefined  notions  of  what  certain 
respected  and  revered  persons  would  perform  and  exact. 
Certain  actions  the  moral  agent,  whether  child  or  man, 
knows  to  be  right  and  wrong,  as  has  been  shown  in  the 
discussion  of  moral  conceptions  and  categories.  And  of 
course  as  far  as  they  go  these  conceptions  and  categories 
are  clear.  Up  to  a  certain  point  all  know  with  some 
definiteness  what  lying  is,  and  what  stealing,  dishonesty, 
intemperance,  and  other  such  immoral  and  moral  actions. 
But,  on  the  other  hand,  beyond  that  point  for  each,  these 
conceptions  and  categories  are  far  from  clear.  The  child 
finds,  for  instance,  that  he  is  expected  to  be  fair,  kind,  and 
truthful.  But  he  cannot  tell  what  fairness,  kindness,  or 
truthfulness  is  in  the  way  of  clear  description,  nor  does  he 
always  know  what  each  requires  when  he  is  called  upon 
to  act;  and  the  mature  man's  knowledge  is  greater  only 
in  degree.  Here  it  is  that  the  ideal  comes  in,  holding  up 
the  example  of  those  who  know  how  to  act  fairly,  kindly, 
and  truthfully,  even  though  they  cannot  put  their  knowl- 
edge in  the  form  of  handy  precepts.  And  of  course  there 
are  many  moral  situations  in  which  it  is  not  merely  a 
matter  of  understanding  a  single  category.  These  situa- 
tions are  so  complex  that  men  cannot  classify  them  under 
categories  at  all,  but  can  only  at  best  feel  their  way  to 
proper  action ;  for  it  is  only  in  simpler  cases  that  the  cate- 
gories, those  "  tools  of  analysis,"  as  Professor  Dewey  calls 
them,  are  of  very  much  service.  Here  again  the  ideal 
comes  in  to   assist,  offering  the   examples   of  the  great 


BIRTH  AND  GKOWTU  OF  CONSCIENCE  IN  THE  CHILD     129 

leaders  who  have  known  how  to  be  moral  in  similar  and 
equally  difficult  situations. 

And  here  it  is  possible  to  draw  the  distinction  between 
the  three  main  types  of  conscience,  a  distinction  that  will 
be  used  in  the  next  chapter.  Fii-st,  there  are  the  con- 
sciences that  have  a  code  but  no  ideal,  second  those  that 
have  an  ideal  but  no  code,  and  finally,  those  that  have  both 
a  code  and  an  ideal :  the  unprogressive,  the  radical,  and 
the  progressive  types  of  conscience. 

Most  typical  of  the  first  are  the  men  who  accept  a  strict 
code  and  demand  that  all  others  shall  follow  it,  the  Phari- 
sees, ancient  and  modern,  who  insist  on  the  letter  of  the 
law.  "  Let  justice  be  done  though  the  heavens  fall,"  might 
be  taken  as  their  motto,  to  be  applied  to  each  item  of  cus- 
tom and  ceremonial  with  indiscriminate  rigidity.  Their 
code  is  grasped  only  in  the  letter;  its  ideal  spirit  is 
neither  sought  nor  caught  by  any  accident,  and  can  never 
be  put  into  practice.  Not  only  a  large  number  of  indi- 
viduals, but,  as  Sir  Henry  Maine  has  shown,  the  preponder- 
ating majority  of  races  have  followed  custom  and  tradition 
so  literally  as  to  remain  stagnant,  the  races  sunk  in  savagery 
or  barbarism,  leaving  progress  to  the  few  who  have  been 
beckoned  onward  by  the  ideal. 

At  the  other  extreme  are  the  consciences  that  insist  on 
judging  each  case  "on  its  own  merits."  They  have  no 
sense  of  the  sanctity  and  wisdom  of  tradition  and  custom, 
and  no  devotion  to  any  principle,  however  time-honoured. 
"The  law  is  made  for  man  and  not  man  for  the  law," 
might  be  suggested  as  their  motto,  for  where  they  think 
human  interests  demand  it,  they  are  ready  to  lie,  to  cheat, 
to  acknowledge  false  gods,  to  temporize  with  evil  to  almost 
any  extent.  For  them  every  question  is  open,  not  only  in 
theory,  but  also  in  practice. 

Midway  between,  constituting  the  golden  mean  in  a  very- 
true  sense,  are  the  consciences  that  seek  to  apply  their 
principles  with  ever  increasing  adequacy  and  enlighten- 


130  ETHICS 

ment.  For  the  fundamental  principles  of  morality  are 
not  open  questions.  Dishonesty,  injustice,  lying,  and  their 
like  aro  never  right  to  such  consciences.  And  similarly 
they  look  on  honesty,  justice,  truth,  temperance,  and  other 
basal  virtues  as  deep  and  sacred,  and,  at  the  same  time,  as 
too  full  of  profound  wisdom  to  be  dissected  and  set  forth 
in  a  code,  ready  to  hand  to  be  used  by  any  tyro.  They 
see  that  for  the  proper  application  of  moral  principles, 
open-eyed,  unarbitrary,  and  trained  sanity  of  judgment 
is  indispensable.  They  see  that  every  moral  action  is 
original,  but  in  the  sense  that  it  is  the  original  application 
of  eternal  principles.  Both  the  code  insisted  on  by  the 
first  type,  and  the  fresh  and  original  appreciation  of  living 
interests,  with  a  view  of  doing  the  best  that  is  feasible* 
insisted  on  by  the  second  type,  have  justice  done  them. 

§  6.     The  Authority  of  Conscience 

We  started  out  to  discover  the  trustworthiness  of  con- 
science, which  is  our  only  witness  as  to  the  nature  and 
distinction  between  right  and  wrong.  Not  much  can  as 
yet  be  done  to  solve  the  problem,  indeed  practically  noth- 
ing towards  judging  of  the  relative  trustworthiness  of 
different  consciences.  For  light  on  the  latter  problem, 
and  on  others  whose  solution  depends  on  its  solution,  the 
investigation  into  the  origin  of  conscience  in  the  race, 
undertaken  in  the  next  chapter,  is  necessary.  But  with 
regard  to  the  trustworthiness  of  conscience  as  compared 
with  other  human  faculties,  something  can  be  said  in  the 
light  of  the  present  inquiry. 

One  conclusion  that  has  become  increasingly  plain  is 
that  conscience  does  not  voice  the  likes  and  dislikes  of  the 
individual.  For,  aside  from  earlier  evidence,  it  was  here 
seen  that  conscience  does  not  arise  till  the  child  sees  those 
about  him  restraining  their  desires  and  practising  their 
aversions,  and  seeing,  imitates  them. 

But,  at  the  other  extreme,  it  cannot,  without  some  reser- 


BIRTH  AND  GROWTH  OF  CONSCIENCE  IN  THE  CHILD     131 

vations,  be  said,  with  Clifford,  that  conscience  is  the  voice 
of  his  tribe  in  the  individual,  the  voice  of  the  organized 
society  to  which  the  individual  belongs,  though  Clifford's 
view  is  not  far  from  the  truth.  The  reasons  for  rejecting, 
or  rather  modifying  the  view,  are,  in  the  main,  three.  The 
child  does  not  come  into  contact  with  all  the  members  of 
his  "tribe,"  and  his  conscience  cannot  therefore  get  "copy  " 
from  his  tribe  as  a  whole.  He  belongs  to  one  class  falling 
under  each  of  the  main  kinds  of  associations  into  which 
his  country  is  organized.  He  belongs  to  a  particular  social 
class,  to  a  particular  religious  class,  to  a  particular  political 
class,  etc.  With  the  consciences  of  classes  other  than  his 
own  in  each  case  he  does  not  come  into  contact ;  the  Jew 
is  little  influenced  by  the  Christian  conscience,  the  wage- 
earner  by  the  professional  man's  conscience,  the  liberal  by 
the  conservative's  conscience,  etc.  Again,  the  child's  indi- 
vidual temperament  prevents  him  from  getting  items  of  con- 
science from  many  with  whom  he  does  come  into  contact. 
The  outlook  of  many  people  is  so  foreign  to  him  that  he  is 
not  prompted  to  imitate  them,  and  when  he  obeys  them  he 
does  so  in  so  external  a  way  that  little  trace  is  left  on  his 
conscience ;  no  reasonable  or  satisfactory  result  appears 
to  him  to  flow  from  the  required  actions.  Finally  again, 
because  of  temperament,  not  all  that  influence  him  do  so 
in  equal  measure.  Some,  the  more  congenial,  influence 
him  more ;  others,  the  comparatively  uncongenial,  influence 
him  less.  The  people  who  arouse  trust  and  confidence  in 
him  influence  him  most,  while  others  influence  him  less 
and  less  as  his  trust  and  confidence  in  them  decrease.  The 
result  is,  that,  partly  through  the  accidents  of  association 
and  partly  through  the  bent  of  temperament,  the  child 
cannot  take  up  into  his  conscience  and  organize  contribu- 
tions from  all  the  members  of  his  tribe. 

But  while  the  conscience  acquired  by  the  child  is  bound 
to  be  partial,  it  is,  nevertheless,  widely  representative,  and 
stands  or  tends  to  stand  for  what  may  be  called  relatively 


132  ETHICS 

settled  conclusions.  In  so  far  as  those  who  influence  the 
child  differ  on  moral  matters  in  example  and  precept,  their 
influences  are  likely  to  counteract  one  another,  and  thus 
to  leave  little  residuum  in  the  child's  conscience.  It  is  what 
all  agree  on  that  gets  firmly  fixed  in  the  child.  Moreover, 
where  any  individual  who  influences  the  child  is  unsettled 
in  his  practice,  or  even  in  his  theory,  the  child  fails  to  get 
definite  items  of  conscience.  And  here  the  result  is  simi- 
lar to  the  last.  For,  on  the  whole,  teachers  are  unsettled 
where  the  sentiments  of  their  community  are  unsettled 
and  conflicting,  and  are  decided  where  their  community  is 
at  one.  Of  course  this  is  true  only  in  the  main,  but  to 
that  extent  it  is  true. 

In  general  then  it  may  be  said  that  the  conscience  of  the 
child  tends  to  represent  the  attitudes  of  his  tribe  towards 
conduct,  in  so  far  as  the  tribe  has  assumed  definite  attittides 
in  the  matter.  Public  opinion  is  to  some  extent  fixed,  at 
any  time,  both  as  regards  precepts  (moral  categories)  and 
as  regards  eminent  examples,  as  embodied  in  the  recognized 
leaders  and  heroes  in  the  various  fields  of  human  endeavour. 
From  these  two  sources  the  child  tends  to  get  the  settled 
code  and  ideal  elements  of  his  conscience,  and  does  get 
them  in  so  far  as  association  and  temperament  does  not 
prevent. 

Conscience,  in  a  word,  stands  or  tends  to  stand  for  the 
common  good.  It  encourages,  not  merely  the  actions  and 
abstinences  that  the  individual,  with  a  view  to  his  own 
interests,  demands,  but  the  actions  and  abstinences,  so  far 
as  they  have  been  identified,  that  all  the  members  of 
society,  including  the  individual  in  question,  demand. 
Conscience  is  the  voice  of  the  individual  and  of  the  fel- 
low-members of  the  society  to  which  he  belongs,  in  so  far 
as  all  the  members  of  the  society  have  reached  agreement 
in  their  attitude  towards  actions  and  abstinences.  And, 
therefore,  when  an  individual  has  acted  immorally,  "for 
obvious  reasons  it  is  right "  to  say,  "  *  In  the  name  of  my 


BIRTH  AND  GROWTH  OF  CONSCIENCE  IN  THE  CHILD    133 

people,  I  do  not  like  you,'  and  to  express  this  dislike  by 
appropriate  methods.  And  the  offender,  being  descended 
from  a  social  race,  is  unable  to  escape  his  conscience,  the 
voice  of  his  tribal  self,  which  says,  *In  the  name  of  the 
tribe,  I  hate  myself  for  this  treason  that  I  have  done.' "  * 

»  Clifford,  On  the  Scientific  Basis  of  Morals.  What  the  individuara 
descent  from  a  social  race  has  to  do  with  the  question,  the  next  two 
chapters  will  explain. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

BiBTH  AiTD  Growth  of  Conscience  in  the  Rage 

§  1.   The  Problem 

In  discussing  the  scope  of  Ethics  in  Chapter  I  it  was 
pointed  out  that  in  order  adequately  to  determine  what 
conscience  stands  for  and  aims  at,  it  is  necessary  to  inves- 
tigate its  history  from  the  beginning ;  for,  as  was  there 
said,  it  would  be  as  absurd  to  confine  attention  to  present- 
day  consciences,  as  it  would  be,  in  a  study  of  what  the 
Anglo-Saxon  race  stands  for,  to  confine  attention  to  liv- 
ing representatives  of  that  race.  The  problem  of  the 
genuine  role  of  conscience  is  large  enough  to  sober  any 
investigator,  and  all  the  facts  that  can  by  any  means  be 
observed  are  none  too  many  for  its  solution.  Accordingly 
the  purpose  of  the  present  chapter  is  to  discover  the  con- 
ditions under  which  conscience  appears  and  develops  in 
the  race,  together  with  such  other  facts  as  may  appear 
during  the  investigation  to  throw  light  on  the  nature  and 
role  of  conscience. 

But  the  problem  is  not  only  large,  but  extremely  diffi- 
cult because  of  the  inaccessibility  of  the  facts,  and  a  few 
pages  may  well  be  devoted  to  pointing  out  the  difficulties, 
and  to  determining  on  the  best  method  of  procedure.  As 
all  authorities  are  agreed  that  even  the  most  primitive 
men  have  consciences,  the  reader's  attention  will  be  first 
directed  to  earliest  man,  with  a  view  of  determining  how 
best  to  gain  knowledge  of  the  state  of  his  conscience. 

Earliest  Man.  —  In  searching  for  earliest  man  it  is  nec- 

184 


BIRTH  AND  GROWTH  OF  CONSCIENCE  IN  THE   RACE    135 

essary  to  go  far  back  of  the  civilized  men  of  to-day  with 
whom  we  are  familiar.  Civilization  and  all  its  arts  must 
be  abandoned,  coming  to  a  time  when  the  art  of  writing 
was  unknown,  and  men  were  barbarians,  who  barely  knew 
the  use  of  bronze  and  practised  a  rude  agriculture.  And 
even  here  we  cannot  stop.  At  a  still  ruder  stage  man 
did  not  know  agriculture ;  and  before  that  he  had  not 
even  learned  to  domesticate  animals  for  their  milk  and 
their  meat,  and  as  beasts  of  burden.  In  this  primitive 
time,  known  as  the  Paleolithic  Age,  he  did  not  know  how 
to  polish  the  rough  stone  implements  that  he  used  in  the 
simplest  way.  "  In  the  Paleolithic  Period  man  was  the 
contemporary  of  the  cave  bear,  the  mammoth,  the  woolly 
rhinoceros,  and  other  extinct  carnivora  and  pachyderms. 
The  climate  was  severe  ;  the  distribution  of  land  and 
water  was  different  from  what  now  prevails ;  pottery, 
even  of  the  rudest  type,  was  unknown ;  the  people  were 
nomad  hunters,  living  in  caves  and  rock  shelters.  .  .  . 
It  is  possible  that  the  Paleolithic  Period  may  have  begun, 
as  M.  de  Mortillet  believes,  in  the  Quaternary  Period  of 
the  geologists,  some  240,000  years  ago."^ 

But  if  the  earliest  men  who  left  artificial  remains  in  the 
form  of  chipped  flints  lived  in  the  Quaternary,  "  it  is  cer- 
tain that  earlier  men  lived  who  had  not  thought  of  chip- 
ping flints.  .  .  .  The  associations  of  the  earliest  men 
must  have  been  conditioned  by  the  abundance  and  acces- 
sibility of  the  kinds  of  food  that  could  be  obtained  by  the 
hands  aided  only  by  stick  or  stone,"  ^  such  as  roots,  bulbs, 
nuts,  wild  honey,  and  possibly  fish,  shellfish,  and  easily 
captured  animals.  In  a  word,  a  very  respectable  array  of 
evidence,  which  though  in  need  of  substantiation  in  detail 
is  impressive  in  its  totality,  renders  it  highly  probable 
that  earliest  man,  or  at  all  events  his  all  but  human  ances- 
tors, lived  in  the  Tertiary  Period,  in  the  Pliocene  or  pos- 

1  Isaac  Taylor,  Origin  of  the  Aryan. 
«  Giddings,  Prin.  of  Soc.,  p.  211. 


136  ETHICS 

fiibly  in  the  Miocene,  many  times  240,000  years  in  the 
past. 

And  some  guess  can  also  be  made  at  the  region  in 
which  the  process  of  humanization  took  place.  Many 
considerations  render  it  not  improbable  that  the  scene 
of  man's  development  from  a  lower  type  was  a  region  or 
zone  "  where  a  climate  ranging  from  tropical  through  sub- 
tropical to  temperate  is  known  to  have  prevailed  in  the 
Tertiary  Period ;  where  the  higher  catarrhine  apes  (who 
are  most  closely  akin  to  man)  are  known  to  have  existed ; 
where  the  earliest  remains  of  man  are  discovered;  and 
from  which  the  lowest  races  of  men  could  have  been  dis- 
tributed as  we  now  find  them."^  In  the  early  Tertiary 
western  and  southern  Europe,  northwestern  Africa,  and 
southern  and  eastern  Asia  formed  a  northern  continent, 
which  was  divided  off  from  a  southern  continent,  which 
included  the  greater  part  of  equatorial  and  southern 
Africa,  by  shallow  seas  (where  are  now  the  Saharan 
Desert,  the  eastern  half  of  the  Mediterranean  Sea,  and  the 
Euphrates  Valley)  connecting  the  Atlantic  and  the  Indian 
oceans.^  Here  it  probably  was  that  the  transition  took 
place  that  resulted  in  the  appearance  of  man.  Or  at  least 
the  scene  of  the  process  was  the  portion  of  these  Tertiary 
continents  that  fulfil  the  conditions  mentioned  above,  "  a 
tropical  and  subtropical  zone  that  reached  halfway  round 
the  earth  from  Java  northwesterly  to  England.  More 
exactly,  it  was  the  southwestern  slopes  and  shores  of  the 
vast  Tertiary  continent  of  Eurasia,  the  Tertiary  island  of 
Hindostan,  and  the  northern  shores  of  Tertiary  Africa."^ 

This  time  and  place  presented  conditions  exceedingly 
favourable  to  great  and  momentous  changes  in  fauna  and 
flora.  Rapid  and  irregular  emergence  and  subsidence  of 
the  two  continents  in  different  regions  were  changing  the 
distribution  of  land  and  water  from  that  obtaining  in  the 

1  Giddings,  op.  cit.  p.  218.  ^  Vide  Giddings,  op.  cit.  p.  216. 

•  Giddings,  op.  cit.  p.  219. 


BIRTH  AND  GROWTH  OF  CONSCIENCE  IN  THE  RACE    13T 

Tertiary  to  that  that  still  exists  to-day.  It  was  at  this 
time  that  the  glacial  ice  sheet  spread  southward  to  retreat 
northward,  and  retreated  to  the  north  to  return  to  the 
south  again,  bringing  with  each  change  enormous  modifi- 
cation of  climate  that  must  have  sternly  repressed  all  but 
the  sturdiest  variations.  Again,  at  times  the  continents 
were  connected  and  at  times  they  were  not ;  now  moun- 
tain barriers  arose,  or  an  arm  of  the  sea  intervened  to 
separate  adjacent  territories  and  their  inhabitants,  and 
again  they  disappeared  to  join  those  that  were  separated. 
And  thus  to  the  glacial  changes  other  forces,  operating 
largely  through  diversions  of  air  and  water  currents,  were 
added  that  made  for  great  variations  of  climate,  and  in- 
creased the  sternness  of  natural  selection.  So  the  condi- 
tions at  times  isolated  clusters  of  hominine  groups  here 
and  there,  and  allowed  them  to  vary  in  relatively  inde- 
pendent directions,  and  soon  different  isolated  clusters 
were  again  brought  together  in  rivalry  that  resulted  in 
the  survival  of  the  fittest.  In  a  word,  the  conditions 
were,  on  the  one  hand,  favourable  to  wide  and  rapid 
variations,  and,  on  the  other,  powerfully  selective  of  the 
strongest  variations,  all  of  which  constituted  a  situation 
in  which  the  highest  ape-like  animals  might  well  have 
been  gradually  transformed  into  primeval  men. 

Here  it  is,  then,  in  these  groups  that  stood  on  the  bor- 
derland between  animals  and  men,  barely  struggling  on 
to  their  feet,  and  blindly  groping  their  way  to  reasonable- 
ness and  morality,  that  search  must  be  made  for  the 
earliest  germ  of  conscience.  But  of  course  it  goes  with- 
out saying  that  these  germs  cannot  be  directly  observed. 
All  the  physical  remains  of  primeval  men,  to  their  bones 
and  whatever  rude  implements  they  may  have  possessed, 
are  buried  so  deep  that  none  have  yet  come  to  light. 
And,  a  fortiori^  any  direct  knowledge  of  their  psychic 
state,  mental  and  moral,  is  out  of  the  question. 

Method  of  Approach.  —  But  though  direct  evidence  fails^ 


138  ETHICS 

indirect  evidence  is  attainable,  and  may,  properly  used, 
do  much  to  indicate  the  conditions  under  which  con- 
science first  appeared  and  afterwards  developed.  There 
is,  namely,  all  but  unanimous  agreement  in  the  view  that 
conscience  is  present  in  all  men,  at  least  in  all  normal 
men,  and  absent  in  all  animals.  Some  believe  that  their 
pets  are  conscientious,  but  their  evidence  is  not  very  judi- 
cial. It  may  be,  then,  that  conscience  is  one  of  the  differ- 
ences, or  that  it  grows  out  of  one  or  more  of  the  differences, 
between  men  and  other  animals.  This  hypothesis  is  at 
least  plausible,  and  has  the  further  virtue  of  being  open 
to  test,  since  the  problem  of  the  differences  between  men 
and  animals  is  not  insoluble,  as  the  facts  exist  about  us  in 
plenty  to  be  examined  by  those  who  will.  This  problem 
will  accordingly  be  undertaken  at  once,  mental  differences 
being  considered  first,  and  physical  differences  second. 

§  2.   The  Essential  Difference  between  Man  and  Other 
Animals  ^ 

Mental  Differences.  —  The  broad  fact  that  there  is  some 
mental  difference  between  animals  and  men  has  always 
been  recognized,  and  is  commonly  asserted  in  the  state- 
ment that  only  men  possess  reason.  But  it  is  evident 
that  animals  also  possess  some  sort  of  mind  and  conscious 
life,  and  the  problem  of  the  mental  differences  thus  reduces 
itself  to  the  problem  of  defining  precisely  what  is  meant 
by  this  "  reason  "  that  man  alone  possesses. 

Until  comparatively  recently  it  was  generally  believed 
by  those  who  had  given  attention  to  the  subject,  that  the 
possession  of  general  ideas  made  abstract  thinking  possible, 
and  was  the  essence  of  reason.  But  for  some  time  this 
view  has  been  abandoned,  for  animals  possess  general 
ideas,  and  these  ideas  are  present  in  our  minds  when  no 
reasoning  is  going  on.     The  evidence  for  these  statements 

1  For  a  fuller  discussion  of  this  problem,  see  my  paper  with  the  same 
title,  Tr.  Texas  Ac.  of  Sci.,  1898,  p.  23. 


BIRTH  AND  GROWTH  OF  CONSCIENCE  IN  THE  RACE    139 

is  abundant  and  readily  accessible,  and  need  not  claim 
space  here. 

Speech.  —  With  the  abandonment  of  general  ideas,  in- 
direct has  been  substituted  for  direct  attack  on  the  prob- 
lem. Instead  of  studying  reason  as  a  mental  process, 
careful  study  has  been  made  of  reasonable  actions  that 
are  so  much  more  accessible.  And  especial  attention  has 
been  given  to  speech,  in  which  most  reasoning  and  all 
higher  reasoning  finds  expression.  The  study  of  speech 
has  been  very  profitably  carried  on  by  the  late  J.  G. 
Romanes,  and  the  conclusions  reached  have  been  usefully 
tested  and  enlarged,  as  a  result  of  a  controversy  of  some 
duration  between  that  scientist  and  some  others  who  were 
more  or  less  opposed  to  the  theory  of  evolution,  and  espe- 
cially to  the  hypothesis  of  mental  evolution,  prominent 
among  the  opposing  scientists  being  Professor  St.  George 
Mivart,  recently  deceased.  Fortunately  the  merits  of  that 
interesting  and  important  controversy  need  not  be  con- 
sidered here,  as  only  the  points  of  agreement  will  be  made 
use  of  in  this  connection. 

The  first  difficulty  encountered  was  the  fact  that  ani- 
mals, too,  use  signs  that  convey  meaning,  vocal  and  other 
signs,  and  that  the  meaning  is  actually  understood.  One 
observation  in  point,  by  no  means  the  most  significant, 
may  be  quoted  from  Romanes  :  *'  Further,  I  give  an  obser- 
vation of  my  own  on  one  terrier  making  a  gesture  sign  to 
another.  Terrier  A  being  asleep  in  my  house,  and  terrier 
B  lying  on  a  wall  outside,  a  strange  dog,  C,  ran  along 
below  the  wall  on  the  public  road  following  a  dogcart. 
Immediately  on  seeing  C,  B  jumped  off  the  wall,  ran 
upstairs  to  where  A  was  asleep,  woke  him  up  by  poking 
him  with  his  nose  in  a  determined  and  suggestive  manner, 
which  A  at  once  understood  as  a  sign  ;  he  jumped  over 
the  wall  and  pursued  the  dog  C,  although  C  was  by  that 
time  far  out  of  sight,  around  a  bend  in  the  road." 

But,  in  spite  of  a  large  amount  of  evidence,  similar  to 


140  ETHICS 

and  some  of  it  stronger  than  the  case  of  the  three  terriers^ 
those  engaged  in  the  controversy,  and  comparative  psychol- 
ogists since  them,  still  maintain  that  speech  is  a  distinc- 
tive human  possession.  Animals,  they  admit,  use  language, 
but  man  alone  has  the  power  of  speech.  For,  as  they 
assert,  signs  may  be  used  in  the  way  of  language  without 
reason,  but  the  use  of  signs  as  men  use  them  in  the  way 
of  speech  is  possible  only  to  reasonable  beings.  What, 
then,  is  the  difference  between  language  and  speech? 
Or,  otherwise  expressed,  what  is  the  essential  character- 
istic of  speech  as  distinguished  from  language? 

That  question  is  again  answered  in  agreement  by  th& 
parties  to  the  controversy,  and  by  their  successors,  and 
the  answer  may  conveniently  be  put  in  the  form  of  two 
propositions :  the  power  of  making  judgments  is  the 
essence  of  speech,  and  self -consciousness  is  the  essence  of 
judgment.  A  few  words  on  each  of  these  propositions 
will  make  them  clearer. 

Judgment.  —  As  to  the  first,  all  should  be  familiar  with 
judgment,  statement,  assertion,  in  general  with  what  is 
usually  treated  of  in  the  second  subdivision  of  books  on 
logic,  coming  in  between  the  discussion  of  terras  and 
concepts  and  the  discussion  of  syllogisms  and  reasoning. 
When  a  judgment  or  statement  is  made,  something  is 
being  talked  or  thought  about,  there  is  a  topic  or  sub- 
ject of  present  interest,  e.g.  Socrates  or  the  weather,  and 
there  is  besides  an  attempt  to  say  or  think  something 
about  it,  e.g.  that  he  is  mortal  or  that  it  is  warm,  and 
moreover  to  say  or  think  something  that  further  knowl~ 
edge  of  the  subject  itself  will  not  contradict.  What 
judgment  as  a  psychic  fact  is,  can  probably  best  be  sug- 
gested by  contrasting  it  with  mere  floating  thoughts  or 
images,  or  with  barely  contemplated  perceptions.  In  a 
state  of  revery  thoughts  and  images,  very  vivid  possibly, 
float  before  the  mind,  but  no  attempt  is  made  to  fit  idea 
to  fact,  and  no  experience  can  be  afterwards  had  that  will 


BIRTH  AND  GROWTH  OF  CONSCIENCE  IN  THE  RACE    141 

contradict  any  thought  or  image  then  entertained ;  no 
judgment  has  been  made.  And  so  it  is  when  merely  con- 
templating or  drinking  in  a  landscape  with  the  eyes,  the 
sensations  being  accepted  passively  with  no  attempt  to 
understand  or  characterize  them.  And,  if  speech  is  to  be 
distinguished  from  mere  language,  a  similar  contrast  be- 
tween signs  of  assertion  and  signs  that  do  not  assert  will 
best  serve  the  purpose.  Consider,  for  instance,  the  mere 
groans  of  pain  of  the  solitary  hunter  accidentally  shot  far 
in  the  forest,  and  compare  with  them  the  groans  he  gives 
later  to  tell  an  unskilled  nurse  that  his  position  is  uncom- 
fortable. The  first  groans  are  significant  enough,  and 
would  be  understood  by  any  one  at  hand,  even  by  the 
hunter's  dog ;  they  are  in  fact  like  the  language-cries  of 
animals.  The  second  groans  assert  discomfort,  and  are 
human  speech.  Speech  is  an  attempt  or  endeavour  to 
convey  by  signs  some  idea  of  certain  facts.  Language 
is  made  up  of  signs,  which  are  the  result  of  instinctive, 
reflex,  or  other  unreflective  action,  that  make  no  attempt 
to  convey  ideas,  although  in  fact  they  do  so. 

Self -consciousness.  —  And  as  to  the  second  proposition 
above,  that  should  not  be  difficult  to  understand  in  view 
of  previous  discussions.  In  familiar  words,  it  means  no 
more  than  that  a  man  cannot  really  judge  unless  he  knows 
what  he  is  about,  unless  he  knows,  to  put  it  in  slang 
phrase,  what  he  "is  up  to."  In  order  to  judge,  a  man 
must  know  what  he  means  to  talk  about,  and  what  he 
means  to  say  about  it.  If  he  does  not  know  so  much  of 
himself  as  that,  he  may  be  using  words,  but  he  is  not 
judging.  A  man  must  be  conscious  of  what  he  is  saying^ 
he  must  know  what  he  is  talking  or  thinking  about,  or  else 
he  is  not  judging.  The  central  fact  can  be  put  in  a  num- 
ber of  ways,  but  after  all  is  said,  it  simply  comes  down  to 
this :  that  judgment  implies  wide-awake,  critical,  reflective, 
assured,  self-conscious  assertion,  the  sort  of  assertion  that 
the  speaker  himself  understood  when  he  made  it,  and  is 


142  ETHICS 

ready  to  stand  up  for,  because  he  knows  that  and  how  he 
made  it.  Words  pronounced  "  absent  mindedly,"  with  a 
dim  consciousness,  or  with  no  consciousness  of  what  one 
is  doing,  may  convey  meaning,  but  they  do  not  form  a 
judgment,  and  the  speaker  will  deny  that  he  really  meant 
what  they  said.  Now  it  is  this  sort  of  deliberate,  self- 
conscious  assertion,  in  which  the  agent  knows  what  he  is 
saying,  it  is,  in  a  word,  judgment,  thus  defined,  that  ani- 
mals never  achieve.  They  may  convey  meaning,  but  they 
do  not  intend  to  do  so,  and  they  are  not  conscious  at  the 
time,  that  they  are  conveying  meaning,  or  what  meaning 
they  are  conveying.  Only  reasonable  beings  are  capable 
of  speech ;  speech  depends  on  judgments,  and  is  made  up 
of  assertions  in  more  or  less  orderly  arrangement ;  and 
judgment  and  assertion  is  a  self-conscious  procedure. 

And  at  this  point  it  is  interesting  to  remind  the  reader 
that  the  same  conclusion  is  reached  by  Kant,  probably 
the  greatest  of  modern  philosophers,  in  the  best-approved 
pages  of  his  Critique  of  Pure  Reason.  Attacking  directly 
the  problem  of  the  essence  of  reason,  and  as  a  result  of 
many  years  of  thought,  unparalleled  in  patience,  he  comes 
to  the  conclusion  that  the  very  heart  and  essence  of  human 
reason  is  what  he  calls  the  unity  of  apperception,  by  which 
he  means  self-consciousness,  reflective  assurance,  knowing 
what  one  is  asserting. ^ 

Voluntary  Action.  — Accordingly,  whether  the  problem  is 
to  discover  the  difference  between  men  and  animals,  or  to 
discover  the  difference  between  speech  and  language,  or  to 
discover  the  essence  of  human  reason,  whether  the  problem 
is  attacked  directly  or  indirectly,  the  solution  is  found  in 
the  fact  of  self -consciousness.  Scientists  and  philosophers 
differ  widely  as  to  many  problems  in  this  difiBcult  field,  but 
on  this  one  point  all  are  in  agreement.  And  in  view  of 
this  agreement,  the  next  step  readily  suggests  itself.     If 

1  Of  course  no  attempt  is  here  made  to  exhaust  the  rich  meaning  of 
Kant's  much-discussed  phrase. 


BIRTH  AND  GROWTH  OF  CONSCIENCE  IN  THE  RACE     143 

self-consciousness  is  the  distinguishing  characteristic  of 
reason,  and  the  essential  difference  between  man  and  other 
animals,  the  more  we  know  about  self-consciousness,  the 
more  we  will  know  about  our  problem.  And,  of  course, 
the  first  question  with  a  view  to  increasing  our  knowledge 
is.  What  are  we  conscious  of  when  conscious  of  self? 
And  to  this  the  answer,  sufficient  for  present  purposes,  is, 
that  we  know  or  are  conscious  of  what  we  are  about, 
what  we  are  "  up  to,"  what  we  mean,  are  aiming  at,  or 
intend  ;  in  a  word,  we  know  what  voluntary  action  we  are 
performing.  This  is  not  offered  as  a  sufficient  account  of 
the  object  of  self-conscious  awareness,  but  as  an  account 
of  a  part  of  it  essential  in  the  present  connection.  For 
to  be  judicious,  to  be  critical,  to  be  wide-awake,  to  be 
reflectively  assured,  is  to  know  what  one  is  saying  or 
otherwise  doing,  and  to  have  such  control  as  to  be  able  to 
correct,  amend,  supplement  at  will.  If  one  does  not  know 
what  one  is  doing,  or  does  not  or  cannot  say  or  do  what 
one  means,  wishes,  intends,  or  purposes,  one  is  not  self-con- 
scious, and  does  not  make  a  judgment,  or  perform  any  other 
kind  of  voluntary  action.  Nor  is  this  an  arbitrary  account 
of  self -consciousness  manufactured  ad  hoe;  on  the  contrary, 
it  is  in  harmony  with  the  most  careful  analyses  made.^ 

1  While  this  is  not  the  place  to  discuss  the  question,  a  few  words  in 
further  elucidation  may  be  permitted  in  a  footnote.  Over  and  above  the 
agent,  or  active  self,  psychologists  distinguish  the  bodily  self,  the  self  of 
memory  and  expectation,  and  the  social  self.  But  important  as  these 
are  in  the  finished  product,  I  believe  they  can  be  shown  to  be  compara- 
tively accidental  elements  caught  up  in  the  eddy  of  voluntary  action.  To 
be  sure,  the  social  self  is,  as  to  its  mind-stuff,  made  up  of  voluntary  ac- 
tions, while  the  other  two  selves  are  present  as  mind-stuff  before  volition 
arises,  but  the  first  is  not  conceived  of  before  the  rise  of  volition  in  the 
agent,  as  has  been  sufficiently  shown,  and  the  last  two  have  to  await  the 
appearance  of  volition  to  get  organized  into  selfhood.  But  aside  from 
that  question,  allowing  the  other  selves  to  be  as  essential  as  any  one 
chooses,  it  cannot  be  disputed  that  the  voluntary  actions  constituting  the 
agent  are  also  indispensable.  On  this  whole  question,  cf.  Psych.  Jtev., 
loc.  cit.y  article  by  Royce,  and  also  Baldwin's  discuasion  of  the  geoesis  of 
the  self  in  his  Interpretations. 


144  ETHICS 

It  appears  then  that  men  are  capable  of  acting  volun- 
tarily, that  they  know  what  they  are  about  when  they 
make  statements  or  perform  actions,  while  animals  do 
not  know  what  they  are  saying  or  doing.  And  when 
this  result  is  examined  a  little  further,  fresh  confirmation 
appears  in  the  discovery  that  it  explains  very  well  the 
difference  between  articulate,  reasonable  speech  and  mere 
words.  For  is  not  the  precise  difference  between  signifi- 
cant speech  and  mere  words  to  be  found  in  the  fact  that 
the  former  has  meaning,  intent,  purpose,  that  it  sticks 
to  the  point  and  endeavours  to  convey  ideas,  in  a  word, 
that  it  is  a  voluntary  performance,  while  the  latter  is 
aimless,  without  purpose  or  consecutive  intent,  as  is  seen 
in  the  babblings  of  the  child,  in  the  incoherent  words  of 
the  insane  that  lead  nowhere  and  mean  nothing,  and  in 
the  vocal  gymnastics  of  the  parrot?  So  much,  indeed, 
Romanes  asserts,  though  without  drawing  the  obvious 
inference  that  voluntary  action  is  the  essentially  human 
capacity,  probably  for  the  reason  that  he  does  not  see  that 
to  mean  something  and  to  intend  or  will  it  is  the  same. 
"So  a  man  means,"  he  says,  "it  matters  not  by  what 
system  of  signs  he  expresses  his  meaning  ;  the  distinction 
between  him  and  the  brutes  consists  in  his  ability  to  mean 
a  proposition."  ^ 

Effort.  —  One  more  step  remains  to  be  taken  and  then 
the  distinguishing  human  characteristic  will  have  been 
described  in  the  simplest  possible  terms,  a  step  moreover 
which  the  former  analysis  of  voluntary  action  makes  it 
possible  for  us  to  take  very  easily.      For  it  was  there 

1  Mental  Ev.  in  Man,  p.  164.  It  may  be  added  that  logicians  have  long 
known  that  intent  or  purpose  is  the  essence  of  judgment.  Cf.,  among 
others,  Venn,  Emp.  Logic,  p.  209  sq.,  also  Royce,  Belig.  Asp.  Phil. ,  Ch.  XI 
passim.  It  is  not  a  little  surprising  that  after  hitting  upon  judgment 
and  self-consciousness  as  distinguishing  characteristics,  comparative  psy- 
chologists should  not  have  gone  to  logicians,  who  analyze  judgments  as 
essentially  purposeful  performances,  and  drawn  the  inference  that  pur- 
poseful or  voluntary  action  is  the  distinguishing  mark  in  its  lowest  terms. 


BIRTH  AND  GROWTH  OF  CONSCIENCE  IN  THE  RACE     145 

shown  that  voluntary  actions  are  essentially  controlled 
performances,  adjustments  and  movements  that  we  make 
what  they  are  by  dint  of  effort,  of  endeavour,  of  trying, 
because  such  effort  seems  worth  the  while,  in  view  of  the 
end  or  purpose  to  be  attained,  or  at  least  adjustments  and 
movements  that  we  feel  we  could  alter  if  we  put  forth 
effort.  In  short,  voluntary  actions  are  controlled,  or  "  feel " 
controllable  by  effort,  and  that  is  of  their  essence.  It 
seems  then  that  man  can  put  forth  effort,  can  try,  can  set 
his  teeth  and  square  his  jaw  to  accomplish  what  he  wills, 
while  animals  have  no  such  power,  being  limited  to  such 
actions  as  their  instincts  and  impulses,  more  or  less  backed 
by  their  feelings,  can  accomplish  for  them.  No  animals 
can  perform  difficult  actions.  With  them  the  recalcitrant 
matter  of  muscles  and  members  is  not  constrained  to  the 
more  skilful  performances  counselled  by  the  ideas  that 
look  before  and  after.  But  volition  means  the  constraint 
of  the  lower  nature  in  the  interest  of  ideal  plans,  as  we 
have  already  seen  and  will  more  fully  see  presently.  Man 
by  trying  can  rule  his  desires  and  his  muscles,  and  for 
him  the  doing  of  the  difficult,  self-mastery,  is  possible. 
Therein  lies  the  essence  of  his  superiority. 

In  these  days  of  manual  training  it  hardly  needs  saying 
that  speech  is  not  the  only  activity  in  which  reason  can 
be  expressed.  Other  forms  of  reasonable  activity  will  be 
discussed  presently. 

Physical  Differences.  —  The  next  question  that  arises 
for  solution  is  as  to  how  the  power  or  capacity  of  putting 
forth  effort  came  to  be  acquired,  and  that  is  a  question 
that  can  best  be  answered  after  a  consideration  of  the 
physical  differences  between  man  and  other  animals.  To 
be  sure  the  answer  will  be  no  more  than  an  hypothesis, 
but  significant  facts  can  be  advanced  in  its  favour,  and, 
besides,  the  only  way  to  answer  unanswered  questions  is 
by  means  of  hypotheses.  First,  Darwin's  account  of  the 
physical  differences  will  be  given ;  so  thorough  was  his 


146  ETHICS 

work,  that  it  is  accepted  substantially  without  amendment 
to-day. 

Man's  most  striking  physical  characteristic  is  his  erect 
posture  ;  so  much  is  plain  to  all.  But  while  others  were 
satisfied  to  wonder  at  it,  Darwin  set  himself  to  work  to 
discover  the  differences  in  bodily  structure  that  make  the 
erect  posture  possible,  and  to  explain  how  these  differ- 
ences came  to  arise.  In  his  account  there  are  two  points 
of  departure,  the  hand  and  the  brain.  First,  as  he  sug- 
gests, the  forefeet  of  the  hominine  apes  somehow  varied 
into  greater  sifhilarity  to  the  wonderful  human  hand,  the 
most  skilful  and  adaptable  single  instrument  that  Nature 
has  ever  devised.  And,  as  the  hand,  deviating  from  the 
forefoot,  grew  in  utility  and  came  to  be  more  used,  its 
effective  employment  being  largely  dependent  on  the 
firmly  erect  posture,  changes  appeared  in  the  feet,  legs, 
pelvis,  and  spinal  column  that  made  erectness  possible. 
Again,  the  hand  superceding  the  powerful  canine  teeth  in 
the  matters  of  offence,  defence,  and  in  other  ways,  the 
massive  jaw  of  man's  ape-like  progenitors  was  necessarily 
modified  and  reduced.  This  completes  the  first  move- 
ment. The  other  line  of  departure,  which  Darwin  does 
not  coordinate  with  that  beginning  in  hand  development, 
began  in  a  great  increase  in  the  weight,  size,  and  conse- 
quently, owing  to  the  confining  skull,  in  the  convolutions 
of  the  brain.  And  finally  the  increased  weight  of  the 
brain,  together  with  the  erect  posture,  contributed  to  the 
modifications  in  the  shape  of  the  skull  and  spinal  column. 
In  view  of  the  large  part  that  intelligence  is  now  known 
to  play  in  hand  movements,  it  may  be  added  that  hand 
and  brain  development  were  certainly  parts  of  one  and 
the  same  process. 

Erectness  and  the  Seat  of  Effort.  —  In  short,  the  attain- 
ment of  the  erect  posture  necessitated  changes  in  the 
hand,  the  jaw,  the  shoulders  and  spinal  column,  the  knees, 
and  the  feet.     And  now  note  that  this  is  a  list  that,  even 


BIRTH  AND  GROWTH   OF  CONSCIENCE   IN  THE   RACE     147 

for  popular  thought,  is  significantly  connected  with  effort 
and  will-power.  For  the  unconscious  and  unbiassed 
testimony  of  language  strongly  indicates  that  these  are 
the  physical  seats  of  will  and  the  feeling  of  effort,  some, 
no  doubt,  more,  and  some  less,  but  all  to  some  extent. 
For  consider  the  following  phrases  expressive  of  a  deter- 
mined stand,  or  of  a  determined  character,  or  of  their 
opposites  :  "  holding  firmly  in  hand,"  "  losing  one's  grip," 
*'  a  firm  jaw,"  "  a  square  jaw,"  "setting  one's  jaw,"  "  having 
backbone,"  "  no  backbone,"  "  a  cartilaginous  backbone," 
"weak-kneed,"  "a  firm  stand,"  "  flatfooted,"  "  putting  down 
one's  foot,"  to  which  a  number  of  others  might  be  added 
in  English,  and  in  other  languages.  In  short,  it  would 
seem  that,  following  James's  and  Lange's  well-known 
theory  of  the  emotions,  the  feeling  of  effort  has  as  its 
physical  basis  tensions,  stresses,  and  other  physical 
happenings  located  in  the  very  bodily  parts  which  had  to 
be  modified  in  order  to  transform  fourfooted  animals  into 
men  with  erect  statures  and  hands  as  well  as  feet. 

And  this  valuable,  because  wholly  unsophisticated  and 
unprejudiced,  testimony  of  language  is  reenforced  by 
resort  to  introspection.  For  it  takes  little  self-exami- 
nation to  make  it  plain  that  in  moments  of  determination 
the  jaw  is  set,  the  eye  and  brows  are  firm  and  tense,  the 
neck,  shoulders,  and  back  are  braced,  the  hands  are 
gripped,  especially  the  right  hand,  and  the  pelvis,  knees, 
and  feet  are  steadied  as  if  to  give  a  firmer  stand.  This 
evidence  has  not  so  far  been  tested  by  laboratory  experi- 
ments, but  it  would  be  interesting  and  not  at  all  difficult 
to  do  so,  in  order  to  determine  what  bodily  changes  take 
place  in  the  parts  named  during  the  exercise  of  will- 
power. Of  course  it  is  not  maintained  that  the  move- 
ments of  putting  down  the  foot,  of  gripping  with  the 
hand,  of  stiffening  the  shoulders,  etc.,  are  overt  and 
observable.  It  is  rather  a  matter  of  incipient  movement, 
of  tensions  and  stresses  of  the  muscular  system,  that  are 


148  ETHICS 

felt  in  consciousness.      These  are  believed  to  constitute 
the  feeling  of  volitional  effort. 

The  theory  may  now  be  a  little  more  fully  explained. 
It  holds  that  during  countless  generations  —  for  the  pro- 
cess must  have  been  very  slow,  stretching  possibly  from 
the  Miocene  into  the  Quaternary  —  situations  of  crisis 
and  stress  called  on  man's  ape-like  progenitors  for  hand 
movements,  movements  that  very  gradually  grew  in  skill, 
and  that  necessitated  the  erect  posture  with  all  the 
changes  that  make  it  possible.  This  means  that  at  such 
times  of  crisis  and  difficulty  there  was  a  great  muscular 
strain,  and  in  general  a  strain  of  movement  in  the  legs, 
knees,  spinal  column,  arm,  etc.,  a  strain  made  the  greater 
because  these  parts  and  members  were,  for  a  long  time,  ill 
adapted  to  hold  the  body  erect.  And,  moreover,  it  is 
likely  that,  as  the  hand  came  little  by  little  to  perform  the 
actions  of  offence,  defence,  and  skill  that  had  previously 
fallen  to  the  jaw,  the  powerful  muscles  of  the  shrinking 
jaw  lost  their  special  occupation,  and  acquired  instead  the 
general  function  of  assisting  the  performance  of  difficult 
actions.^  Thus  gradually  all  these  tensions  and  stresses 
came  as  a  matter  of  habit,  and  possibly  later  as  a  matter 
of  instinct,  to  be  set  up  whenever  difficulties  appeared, 
whenever,  that  is,  the  muscles  and  members  and  bodily 
habits  offered  resistance  to  the  movements  counselled  by 
the  ideas  with  farther  outlook.  This,  of  course,  must 
have  been  a  very  slow  process  —  brutes  did  not  become 
men  in  a  day,  nor  in  a  generation,  not  even  in  a  century 
nor  in  so  much  as  a  thousand  years  —  which  may  have 
been  conditioned  only  by  variation  and  natural  selection, 
or  by  these  processes  aided  by  the  inheritance  of  acquired 
characters.     However  that  may  have  been,  in  view  of  the 

1  The  familiar  grimaces,  protrusions  of  the  jaw,  and  general  squirmings 
of  the  boy  learning  to  write  may,  especially  in  view  of  his  stage  of  devel- 
opment, be  a  case  of  atavism,  and  in  any  event  are  instructive  in  the 
present  connection. 


BIRTH  AND  GROWTH  OF  CONSCIENCE   IN  THE   RACE     149 

advantage  of  modifying  the  routine  of  action  more  readily 
and  adapting  it  with  greater  nicety  to  changing  condi- 
tions, the  power  of  constraining  action  into  accord  with 
ideal  plans  was  gradually  acquired.  The  tensions  and 
stresses  incident  to  the  erect  posture  and  to  hand  move- 
ments, and  added  to  them  those  of  biting  and  other  jaw 
action,  became  better  organized  and  more  effectively  fitted 
to  intelligent  aims,  or  rather  to  their  brain  correspondents, 
with  the  result  that  they  became  dissociated  from  erect- 
ness  and  their  other  special  functions,  as  such,  and  came 
to  be  an  available  force  for  the  control  of  habits  and 
instincts ;  that,  in  short,  they  became  the  bodily  counter- 
part of  the  effort  that  is  the  central  element  of  volition. 

Summing  up  briefly :  on  the  mental  side  the  theory  is, 
that  effort,  the  essence  of  volition,  differences  men  from 
animals ;  on  the  physical  side  the  theory  is,  that  the 
changes  of  structure  essential  to  erectness  constitute  the 
difference  ;  finally,  the  two  theories  are  coordinated  by 
the  hypothesis  that  the  physical  basis  of  the  feeling  of 
effort  is  to  be  found  in  the  bodily  parts  where  the  changes 
mentioned  above  took  place,  and  by  the  explanation  of 
how  the  tensions  in  those  parts  could  acquire  the  general 
function  of  (the  physical  basis  of)  effort. 

This  may  seem  a  slender  basis  on  which  to  account  for 
the  truly  vast  differences  in  attainment  between  men  and 
animals.  But  to  hold  the  balance  of  power,  as  we  already 
know  effort  does,  is  an  incalculable  advantage,  and  to  give 
besides,  as  it  does,  very  efficient  support  to  intelligence  as 
opposed  to  mere  habit  and  routine,  is  an  even  greater 
advantage.  After  examining,  in  the  next  section,  the 
effects  that  flow  from  the  acquisition  of  volitional  power, 
the  basis  will  not  seem  insufficient. 

§  3.    Effects  of  the  Rise  of  Volition 

If  it  is  true  that  man's  preeminence  is  due  to  his  pos- 
session of  will-power,  it  should  be  possible  to  point  out 


150  ETHICS 

some  of  the  modifications  that  owe  their  appearance  to 
the  acquisition  of  this  power.  It  should  be  possible  to 
show,  that  by  becoming  a  being  with  a  will,  man  becomes 
a  being  capable  of  the  triumphs  that  mankind  has  actually 
achieved.  In  the  present  section  a  beginning  will  be  made 
towards  explaining  these  points,  but  the  undertaking  is  a 
large  one,  and  it  will  not  be  possible  to  go  very  far  into 
detail.  First,  we  will  attempt  to  show  how  the  individual 
was  changed  in  character  and  capacity  by  the  new  acqui- 
sition, second,  to  make  plain  the  biological  importance  of 
association,  and  thirdly,  we  will  inquire  into  the  effects  of 
the  rise  of  volition  on  social  conditions. 

Effects  on  the  Individual. — The  transformations  brought 
about  in  the  individual  may  conveniently  be  grouped  under 
the  three  heads  that  common  observation  picks  out  as  the 
distinguishing  characteristics  of  man,  viz.  thinking,  tool- 
making,  and  religion. 

It  will  not  be  necessary  to  dwell  at  length  on  man's 
capacity  as  a  thinking  being,  for  it  has  already  been  suffi- 
ciently insisted  on  that  reason  is  the  faculty  of  critical 
and  controlled  intellectual  operations.  The  individual, 
as  was  shown,  is  not  a  reasoning  being  so  long  as  his 
thoughts  take  their  own  course.  Thinking  is  essentially 
the  controlled  or  purposeful  marshalling  of  ideas,  largely 
through  the  instrumentality  of  words.  Thinking  and 
thinking  to  a  purpose  are  one.  We  fail  to  understand 
things,  and,  when  curiosity  is  aroused,  they  puzzle  us, 
because  we  cannot  think  what  they  are,  because  we  have 
no  idea  of  what  they  are.  Ideas,  the  right  ideas,  are  nec- 
essary in  order  to  understand  things.  Now,  of  course, 
ideas  are  formed  in  part  by  association,  repetition,  atten- 
tion, memory,  and  other  purposeless  processes.  But  such 
ideas  are  too  simple,  too  vague,  too  much  a  matter  of 
chance  to  answer  most  questions  about  our  tangled  and 
bewildering  world.  As  inductive  logic  shows,  in  order 
to  explain  and  understand  the  world,  we  must  set  to  work 


BIRTH  AND  GROWTH  OF  CONSCIENCE  IN  THE  RACE    151 

to  frame  hypotheses,  to  construct  ideal  schemes  that  will 
accurately  and  adequately  describe  the  world's  puzzling 
phenomena.  And  this  construction  is  a  difficult  opera- 
tion, one  that  requires  effort,  indeed  a  very  continuous 
effort,  as  all  scientists  and  logicians  well  know.  It  in- 
volves examining,  discerning,  analyzing,  selecting,  reject- 
ing, putting  ideas  together  in  most  varied  combinations, 
holding  in  mind  the  gist  of  the  problem,  rejecting  inept 
solutions,  and  holding  to  all  promising  combinations  of 
ideas.  But  with  effort  all  these  difficult  tasks  can  be 
accomplished,  and  their  accomplishment  means  the  whole 
of  common  sense  and  scientific  explanation  of  the  world 
that  gives  to  man  alone  the  mastery  over  it,  and  awakens 
our  wonder  when  we  contemplate  it  in  its  entirety  all  at 
once.  Of  course  science  is  a  very  gradual  growth,  the 
reward  that  crowns  generations,  centuries,  ages  of  intel- 
lectual effort. 

It  used  to  be  held  that  tool-using  is  a  distinctively 
human  capacity,  much  as  it  was  supposed  that  language 
is  confined  to  man.  But  Darwin  and  many  after  him 
have  shown  that  animals,  especially  the  higher  apes,  use 
tools.  It  is  the  making  of  tools  that  only  man  compasses. 
Animals  use  tools  if  they  happen  by  lucky  chance  to  be 
at  hand,  while  men  look  for  them,  and  if  they  cannot  find 
them,  make  them.  Nor  does  it  need  any  argument  to 
prove  that  tool-making  is  a  work  of  ingenuity,  a  purpose- 
ful fitting  of  means  to  ends.  In  thinking  it  is  ideas  that 
have  to  be  shaped  and  wrought  into  instruments  of  ex- 
planation ;  in  tool-making  the  material  is  grosser,  but  the 
intelligence,  ingenuity,  devising,  and  constructing  power 
is  anything  but  inferior.  Nor  would  it  be  easy  to  ex- 
aggerate the  role  that  tool-  and  implement-making  has 
played  in  assuring  to  man  his  place  of  supremacy  in  the 
world.  For  these  resources  to  man's  hand,  gradually  and 
painfully  wrought  out,  include  all  weapons  of  offence  and 
defence,  from  the  first  rough  club  and  arrowhead  to  the 


162  ETHICS 

modern  rifle  and  man-of-war  with  its  armour  and  its  eighty- 
ton  guns ;  all  domestic  devices,  from  stones,  simple  pottery, 
and  friction  fire  to  the  latest  inventions  of  the  modem 
kitchen  ;  all  clothes  and  shelters,  from  tree-bark  and  rock 
shelters  to  the  fashions  of  Paris  and  New  York  and  the 
dwellings  of  Belgravia  and  Fifth  Avenue  ;  all  means  of 
locomotion,  from  the  ass  and  the  ox  to  railways  and 
steamboats;  and  all  implements,  from  the  first  bone 
needle  and  stone  knife  to  the  delicate,  smooth-running 
and  strong  steam  and  electrical  machinery  of  our  work- 
shops. Material  possessions  can  easily  be  overvalued, 
but  that  is  no  reason  for  denying  either  the  intelligence 
that  is  employed  in  devising  the  many  implements  thus 
roughly  suggested,  or  the  large  part  they  have  played  in 
facilitating  man's  rise  from  savagery  through  barbarism 
into  civilization. 

And  finally,  religion  distinguishes  man  from  other  ani- 
mals. Dread  and  fear  animals  experience,  but  the  sense 
of  the  presence  all  about  of  supernatural  powers  that  rule 
men  and  the  world,  and  mould  them  to  their  purposes,  the 
dispensers  alike  of  the  most  essential  benefits  and  the 
direst  injuries,  is  an  experience  peculiar  to  man  alone. 
Beginning  with  the  vaguely  conceived  prototypes  of  Thor 
and  Odin,  of  Zeus  and  Apollo,  and  of  the  grosser  gods  of 
savage  tribes,  and  tracing  the  advancing  evolution  to  the 
relatively  intellectual  and  moral  supreme  deities  of  Buddh- 
ism, Mohammedanism,  and  Christianity,  wherever  we  look, 
whether  backward  in  time  or  far  abroad  in  space,  we  find 
man  believing  to  his  weal  or  woe  in  spiritual  powers,  con- 
ceived to  explain  the  mysteries  of  creation  and  sustenta- 
tion,  and  of  reward  and  retribution.  And  these  religious 
beliefs  have  not  been  mere  ineffective  dreamings.  No 
other  characteristic  of  man  has  so  largely  affected  his  for- 
tunes, for  none  has  influenced  him  so  intimately  and  at  so 
many  points,  at  once  shaping  his  entire  outlook  on  the 
world,  and  minutely  regulating,  especially  in  earlier  days. 


BIRTH  AND  GROWTH   OF  CONSCIENCE   IN  THE  RACE     153 

his  individual  actions  in  every  field,  —  in  his  daily  labour, 
in  his  domestic  life,  in  his  social  gatherings,  whether  for 
diversion  or  for  more  serious  purposes,  and  in  his  military 
and  political  activity.  Nor  is  it  difficult  to  explain  why 
man  alone  is  religious.  No  animal  has  any  experience  of 
agency,  and  none,  therefore,  has  any  means  of  personify- 
ing the  forces  and  phenomena  of  nature.  To  animals, 
things,  indeed  all  the  objects  about  them,  whether  living 
or  inorganic,  are  merely  "projects."  But  man  has  expe- 
rienced agency  and  has  an  idea  of  what  it  is,  and  just  as 
he  explains  the  actions  of  his  fellows'  bodies  by  ejecting 
agency  and  purpose  and  personifying  them,  just  so  he  per- 
sonifies the  various  activities  of  Nature  and  Nature  her- 
self, by  conceiving  of  vast  and  ingenious  beings  whose 
purposes  find  fulfilment  in  the  mysteries  of  the  world. 

Did  space  permit  it  might  be  shown  that  art  also  is 
possible  only  to  beings  endowed  with  will,  no  difficult  task 
in  view  of  the  critical  judgment  that  all  artistic  work 
requires.  But  as  it  is,  probably  enough  has  been  said  to 
make  it  plain  that  will-power  is  the  force  that  is  respon- 
sible for  man's  most  distinctive  theoretical  and  practical 
achievements.  It  should  be  noted  in  passing  that  many 
of  these  achievements  have  highly  important  social  bear- 
ings. Some  of  these  will  be  mentioned  later,  while  others 
will  be  passed  without  further  mention,  because  they  are 
less  pertinent  to  the  present  discussion. 

Biological  Importance  of  Association.  —  All  are  familiar 
with  the  power  of  numbers,  and  realize  in  some  measure 
the  importance  for  man  of  society,  but  some  possibly  may 
not  be  aware  that  association  together  in  groups  is  the 
chief  resource  making  for  survival  on  which  the  higher 
gregarious  animals  can  rely.  Yet  such  is  the  fact,  and 
an  important  fact  it  is  fully  to  understand,  for  otherwise 
it  is  impossible  to  understand  the  forces  that  condition 
the  rise  and  development  of  conscience  in  the  race.  The 
biological  role  of  association  has  been  carefully  studied  by 


154  ETHICS 

scientists,  and  the  following  sentences  quoted  from  Pro- 
fessor Giddings,  who  partly  quotes  and  partly  paraphrases 
from  Prince  Kropotkin,  are  so  much  to  the  point,  that  no 
better  can  be  done  than  to  rest  the  case  on  them ;  — 

" '  The  ant,'  said  M.  Kropotkin, '  thrives  without  having 
any  of  the  "protective"  features  which  cannot  be  dis- 
pensed with  by  animals  living  an  isolated  life.  Its  colour 
renders  it  conspicuous  to  its  enemies,  and  the  lofty  nests 
of  many  species  are  conspicuous  in  the  meadows  and  for- 
ests.' The  sting  of  a  single  individual  is  not  formidable. 
Its  eggs  and  larvae  are  a  dainty  to  many  inhabitants  of 
the  forest.  Yet  ants  are  not  much  destroyed  by  birds, 
not  even  by  ant-eaters,  and  are  dreaded  by  most  stronger 
insects. 

"  The  cranes  usually  hatch  but  two  eggs  at  an  incuba- 
tion, but  to  maintain  the  species  they  do  not  need  to  rear 
a  numerous  offspring ;  their  social  habits,  intelligence,  and 
prudence  enable  them  often  to  attain  to  a  great  age. 

"  In  their  societies  parrots  '  find  infinitely  more  protec- 
tion than  they  possibly  might  find  in  any  ideal  develop- 
ment of  beak  and  claw.  Very  few  birds  of  prey  or 
mammals  dare  to  attack  any  but  the  smaller  species  of 
parrots.'  It  is  most  probable  that  the  larger  parrots 
succumb  chiefly  to  old  age  rather  than  die  from  the  claws 
of  any  enemies. 

"Horses,  'badly  organized  on  the  whole  for  resisting 
both  their  numerous  enemies  and  the  adverse  conditions  of 
climate,  would  soon  have  disappeared  from  the  surface  of 
the  earth  were  it  not  for  their  sociable  spirit.  When 
a  beast  of  prey  approaches  them,  several  studs  unite  at 
once  .  .  .  and  neither  the  wolf  nor  the  bear,  not  even 
the  lion,  can  capture  a  horse  or  even  a  zebra,  as  long  as 
they  are  not  detached  from  the  herd. 

" '  That  life  in  societies  is  the  most  powerful  weapon  in 
the  struggle  for  life,  taken  in  its  widest  sense,  has  been 
illustrated  by  several  examples  on  the  foregoing  pages. 


BIRTH  AND  GROWTH   OF  CONSCIENCE   IN  THE   RACE     155 

and  could  be  illustrated  by  any  amount  of  evidence,  if 
further  evidence  were  required.  Life  in  societies  enables 
the  feeblest  insects,  the  feeblest  birds,  and  the  feeblest 
mammals  to  resist,  or  to  protect  themselves  from  the  most 
terrible  birds  and  beasts  of  prey  ;  it  permits  longevity  ; 
it  enables  the  species  to  rear  its  progeny  with  the  least 
waste  of  energy,  and  to  maintain  its  numbers  .  .  .  ;  it 
enables  the  gregarious  animals  to  migrate  in  search  of 
new  abodes.  Therefore,  while  fully  admitting  that  force, 
swiftness,  protective  colours,  cunningness,  and  endurance 
to  hunger  and  cold,  which  are  mentioned  by  Darwin  and 
Wallace,  are  so  many  qualities  making  the  individual, 
or  the  species,  the  fittest  under  certain  circumstances,  we 
maintain  that  under  any  circumstances  sociability  is  the 
greatest  advantage  in  the  struggle  for  life.'"^ 

And  the  importance  of  sociability  is  at  least  as  great 
for  man  as  for  any  other  animals.  He  is  the  descendant 
of  gregarious  animals,  and  has  always  lived  in  groups. 
His  chief  dependence  is  on  association,  and  on  intelligence 
and  other  qualities  that  themselves  largely  depend  on 
association  for  their  development.  Accordingly  the  effects 
of  the  rise  of  volition  on  association  should  be  noted,  and 
the  injurious  effects  noted  with  special  care. 

Social  Dangers  due  to  the  Rise  of  Volition.  —  With  effort 
and  control  man  comes  in  growing  measure  to  understand 
his  world,  to  master  it  and  obtain  his  desires,  and  to  con- 
ceive of  and  worship  the  supernatural  and  unseen  powers. 
All  this  is  a  gain.  But  there  is  another  side  to  the  pic- 
ture. Man  alone  is  an  egoist.  The  animal  is  not  a  self, 
an  agent,  and  cannot  be  interested  in  himself;  in  his 
experience  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  self  to  be  interested 
in.  What  we  mistake  for  interest  in  self  is  his  interest, 
and  very  strong  it  is,  in  various  experiences  of  a  satisfac- 
tory kind,  in  eating,  in  drinking,  in  fighting,  in  being 
caressed,  etc.  Besides,  were  it  possible  for  animals  to  be 
1  Oiddings,  Principles  of  Soe.,  p.  206. 


156  ETHICS 

interested  in  self,  they  could  not  intelligently,  purposely^, 
and  with  ulterior  motive  seek  to  advantage  self,  since  they 
are  without  will.  But  man  knows  himself,  and  as  time 
goes  on  he  comes  to  take  an  increasing  interest  in  this 
among  the  objects  of  which  he  is  conscious.  And  as  he 
does  so,  he  comes  to  think  out  the  consequences  his  actions 
will  have  on  this,  his  object  of  greatest  interest.  Animals 
act  in  a  way  to  bring  themselves  advantage  and  pleasure, 
but  they  do  not  act  with  the  purpose  of  getting  advantage 
and  pleasure,  both  of  which  are  ends  of  action  for  man. 

It  goes  without  saying  that  man's  interest  in  self  is  far 
from  an  unmixed  evil.  It  leads  in  time  to  more  or  less 
intelligent  protection  of  every  individual  by  the  person 
who  can  most  easily  do  so,  namely,  by  himself.  With  the 
spread  of  sympathy,  it  leads  to  intelligent  beneficence  to 
others.  And  in  the  initiation  of  ambition  and  emulation^ 
which  are  conditioned  by  self-consciousness  and  self-inter- 
est, it  gives  birth  to  two  forces  that  do  much  for  social 
progress  —  consider  the  importance  of  leadership  —  by 
stirring  individuals  out  of  sloth  and  spiritless  content, 
and  spurring  them  on  to  the  pitch  of  endeavour. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  human  self-interest  is  one  of 
the  greatest  dangers  threatening  association.  In  animals 
instinct  provides  for  the  sacrifice  of  individuals,  where  the 
interest  of  the  group  requires  it.  And  instincts  are  able 
to  impel  to  self-sacrifice  when  uninterfered  with.  For 
instincts  are  blind  to  the  consequences  that  flow  from  the 
actions  to  which  they  lead.  Where  necessary,  instinct 
leads  social  animals  to  put  themselves  in  disadvantageous 
positions  for  the  general  good,  and  from  this  self-sacrifice 
they  do  not  shrink,  partly  because  they  do  not  know  of 
the  self-sacrifice,  and  partly  because,  if  they  knew,  they 
still  could  not  control  their  instincts.  To  the  individual 
bee  it  is  a  disadvantage  to  sting  an  enemy,  for  in  doing 
so  it  lacerates  its  bowels  by  pulling  out  its  sting,  and  dies- 
in  consequence.     But  these   acts  of  self-sacrifice  benefit 


BIRTH  AND  GROWTH  OF  CONSCIENCE  IN  THE  RACE     157 

the  species,  as  they  cause  it  to  be  feared  by  its  enemies. 
And  of  similar  individual  disadvantage  and  social  advan- 
tage is  the  assumption  of  the  post  of  danger  by  indi- 
viduals belonging  to  groups  of  elephants,  horses,  wolves, 
and  birds  of  various  gregarious  species  ;  all  such  acts  of 
self-sacrifice  being  instinctive  performances. 

But  now  comes  man  with  his  growing  foresight  of  per- 
sonal advantage  and  disadvantage,  with  his  determination 
to  obtain  the  former  and  escape  the  latter,  and  with  his 
capacity  for  controlling  his  instincts  and  following  his 
determinations.  Naturally  there  could  have  been  only 
one  result,  if  new  forces  had  not  appeared  to  take  part 
in  the  conflict.  Individual  foresight  and  purpose  would 
have  checked  self-sacrifice  for  the  general  good,  once  it 
became  consciously  such  ;  association  would  consequently 
have  become  weakened  and  eventually  disrupted ;  and  the 
barely  humanized  animals,  whose  chief  dependence  for  sur- 
vival, let  it  be  remembered,  is  association,  would  have  been 
exterminated.  This  would  have  happened  had  there  been 
no  countercheck  or  volition  and  its  individualism.  Put 
in  different  words,  in  man's  animal  progenitors  there  was 
a  working  adjustment  between  the  actions  in  the  interest 
of  individuals,  and  the  actions  in  the  interest  of  groups. 
In  man,  by  the  appearance  of  voluntary  action,  the  ad- 
justment was  disturbed,  and  the  tendency  was  to  give  a 
dangerous  preponderance  to  the  former  class  of  actions. 
Had  it  not  been  possible  to  restore  the  adjustment,  man 
must  have  perished  soon  after  he  appeared. 

§  4.     Social  Counterchecks  on  Volition 

But,  of  course,  man  did  not  perish,  for  there  were 
forces  in  existence  that  tended  to  restore  the  equilib- 
rium endangered  by  the  appearance  of  volition.  In  con- 
sidering these  counterchecks  on  volition  in  the  present 
section,  those  common  to  men  and  animals  will  be  taken 
up  first,  and  then  those  peculiar  to  man. 


168  ETHICS 

Instinctive  Opponents  of  Volition.  —  In  the  first  place,  the 
social  instincts  which  nascent  volition  assaulted  were  no 
mean  antagonists.  Earliest  man  was  the  heir  of  social 
animals  and  came  naturally  by  the  social  instincts  that 
played  so  important  a  part  in  contributing  to  their  sur- 
vival. Self-interested  self-control  might  in  time  have 
undermined  these  instincts,  but  the  victory  would  not 
have  been  easy  and  prompt,  and  meantime  the  instincts 
had  a  chance  to  gather  assistance  and  man's  social  nature 
had  a  chance  to  develop. 

Again,  among  man's  animal  progenitors  and  other  gre- 
garious animals  another  set  of  instincts  are  to  be  found 
whose  function  it  is  to  punish  those  guilty  of  what  may  be 
called  breaches  of  social  instincts,  and  to  reward  the  mem- 
bers of  the  group  whose  social  efficiency  is  conspicuous. 
For  instance,  it  is  common  among  gregarious  animals, 
notably  among  elephants,  monkeys,  and  storks,  to  expel 
social  offenders  from  the  group,  and,  on  the  other  hand, 
to  reward  in  various  ways  successful  leaders  and  other 
deserving  members.  And  naturally  these  instinctive  sanc- 
tions of  social  actions  and  their  opposites  are  also  a  part 
of  man's  inheritance  from  his  gregarious  ancestry.  And 
it  thus  happens,  that  while  self-interested  eccentricity  is 
the  deed  of  the  individual,  its  repression  is  undertaken 
by  the  whole  group,  with  a  consequent  probability  of 
success  that  gives  further  security  to  early  man's  social 
instincts. 

It  should  be  pointed  out  here  that  these  instinctive  con- 
straints to  social  action  and  restraints  on  anti-social  action 
came  to  be  self-conscious  as  man  gradually  formed  the 
habit  of  noticing  what  he  was  about.  This  change  need 
not  in  all  cases  have  interfered  with  the  instinctive  impul- 
siveness of  the  actions  ;  to  the  present  day  women  turn 
on  those  who  attack  their  children,  and  men  bring  down 
retribution  on  those  who  assail  their  children  or  their 
womankind,  with  all  but  animal  impulse  and  immediacy. 


BIRTH  AND  GROWTH  OF   CONSCIENCE   IN  THE   RACE     159 

But  consciousness  of  a  habit  is  sure  to  bring  some  modifi- 
cation to  it  in  time. 

These  instinctive  constraints  and  restraints  formed,  as 
they  became  self-conscious,  the  core  of  what  will  be 
called  the  instinct-custom  element  in  conscience. 

Intelligent  Control  of  Volition.  —  In  addition  to  these 
instinctive  forces,  there  are  reasonable  forces  supervisory 
of  social  conduct  in  man,  and  in  man  alone.  These  are 
in  the  main  two,  public  opinion  and  conscience,  the  lat- 
ter, as  will  presently  appear,  being  the  inner  aspect  of  the 
former.  As  here  used  public  opinion  means  the  opposite 
of  mob-impulse,  which  is  a  manifestation  of  unreasoning 
instinct.  Public  opinion,  on  the  other  hand,  is  a  more 
or  less  intelligent  belief  entertained  by  a  social  group, 
and  usually  reached  as  a  result  of  at  least  a  minimum  of 
reasonable  conference.  Supervision  by  public  opinion  is 
thus  intelligent  supervision,  and  the  control  exercised 
over  the  individual  after  this  fashion  is  the  basis  of  what 
will  be  called  the  insight  element  in  conscience. 

Control  hy  Public  Opinion.  —  Public  opinion  with  regard 
to  conduct  grew  out  of  the  instinctive  attitudes  towards 
conduct  already  discussed.  Plainly  so,  for  the  conduct 
that  all  spontaneously  attack  is  the  conduct  that  all  will 
condemn,  and  the  conduct  that  all  spontaneously  reward 
is  the  conduct  that  all  will  approve.  But  while  instincts 
are  the  germs  out  of  which  adverse  and  favourable  pub- 
lic opinions  grew,  public  opinion  developed  far  beyond 
instinct,  and  is  developing  still,  chiefly,  no  doubt,  in  the 
way  of  specification  and  filling  out  with  detail,  but  partly 
also  in  the  way  of  correction.  And  reflective  supervision 
in  fact  grew  up  after  two  somewhat  different  fashions. 
Each  member  of  the  group  came  to  see  either  that  egoisti- 
cal individuals  had  their  hands,  potentially  at  least,  against 
all  others^  or  else  that  certain  types  of  conduct  and  char- 
acter were  dangerous  to  the  group  itself,  which  meantime 
had  been  personified. 


160  ETHICS 

Some  actions  are  so  plainly  dangerous  to  all  that  none 
can  escape  so  conceiving  them.  The  man  who  deserts  his 
responsible  post  as  sentinel  and  the  man  who  secretly  ap- 
propriates the  possessions  of  his  fellows  perform  actions 
of  this  kind,  and  moreover  manifest  a  character  that  is 
a  constant  menace  to  all,  being  likely  at  any  time  to 
issue  in  repetitions  of  the  injurious  actions.  Regard- 
ing such  clearly  dangerous  types  of  conduct  and  charac- 
ter, there  was  sure  to  grow  up  an  unfavourable  public 
opinion,  that  both  coined  opprobrious  terms  to  character- 
ize them,  and  caused  all  knowing  of  the  deed  to  turn  on 
its  agent  with  overt  actions  of  retribution,  or,  where  that 
was  still  possible,  of  restraint.  In  early  England,  and  in 
other  communities  where  horses  and  cattle  constituted 
the  chief  movable  property,  the  words  "  stop  thief ! " 
were  a  signal  to  all  who  heard  them  to  join  in  the  hue 
and  cry  ;  they  were  a  warning  to  the  community  that 
danger  threatened  all,  and  that  all  must  unite  to  meet  it. 

And,  on  the  other  hand,  one  of  the  first  things  that 
earliest  man  personifies,  after  the  fashion  already  made 
familiar,  is  the  horde  or  group  of  which  he  finds  himself 
a  member.  Besides  the  fact  that  his  social  instincts  lead 
him  to  work  for  its  maintenance  and  protection,  it  is  com- 
monly conceived  of  as  founded  by  and  under  the  protec- 
tion of  some  deified  ancestor  or  other  god,  and  both  facts 
aid  towards  personification,  and  aid  in  arousing  the  devo- 
tion of  individuals  for  the  group.  And  this  devotion  to 
the  group  is  further  intensified  by  the  evident  interest  of 
each  member  in  its  welfare. 

All  members  of  the  group  are  thus  alert  to  discover  the 
types  of  conduct  and  character  that  benefit  and  injure  the 
group  respectively.  Naturally  the  members  of  the  group 
will  not  always  agree.  But  the  similarity  of  their  instincts 
and  circumstances  will  enable  them  to  agree  in  the  most 
important  and  obvious  cases,  and  in  these  cases  individ- 
uals  who   perform   actions   thought  beneficial   will   find 


UlUTH  AND  GROWTH  OF  CONSCIENCE  IN  THE  RACE    161 

"themselves  encouraged  and  rewarded  by  the  whole  group, 
while  those  who  perform  actions  thought  to  be  injurious 
will  find  themselves  thwarted  and  punished,  also  at  the 
hands  or  with  the  concurrence  of  the  whole  group.  And, 
of  course,  as  time  goes  on,  and  if  the  group  progresses,  it 
will  pick  out  beneficial  and  injurious  actions  with  increas- 
ing discernment. 

A  special  case  of  the  supervision  of  voluntary  action  in 
the  interest  of  society  is  offered  in  the  action  of  leaders. 
Partly  instinctively,  and  partly  through  insight  into  the 
wisdom  of  the  practice,  the  members  of  human  groups 
have  always  followed  leaders,  and  demanded  that  others 
should  do  the  same,  under  pain  of  the  common  displeasure. 
Of  course  leaders  are  never  absolute,  but,  within  more 
or  less  well-defined  limits,  obedience  to  them  is  practised 
and  demanded.  In  the  case  of  trusted  leaders  the  whole 
group  demands  loyalty  on  the  part  of  each  member  to  the 
plans  and  policies  devised.  For  leaders  too  set  to  work 
devising  plans  and  establishing  policies  for  the  benefit 
of  the  associations  they  lead.  Most  of  the  plans  are 
of  transient  import  no  doubt,  but  others  are  farther 
reaching,  and  initiate  modes  of  action  and  abstinence  that 
rule  the  group  over  longer  periods,  in  some  cases  perma- 
nently. As  instances  of  relatively  permanent  modes  of 
commended  behaviour,  initiated  partly  by  leaders  and 
partly  by  public  opinion,  may  be  mentioned  the  benevo- 
lence enjoined  by  the  three  greatest  religious  leaders, 
Buddha,  Christ,  and  Mohammed,  and  the  respect  for  law 
characteristic  of  the  most  advanced  peoples. 

The  two  main  forms  of  public  opinion  and  leadership 
are  the  politico-military  and  the  religious.  The  two 
forms  were  not  very  clearly  differentiated  at  first,  but  in 
time  they  came  to  act  more  independently,  and  indeed  the 
preponderance  of  the  one  or  the  other,  in  different  cases, 
largely  decided  the  fortunes  of  early  tribes  and  peoples. 
But   the   present  concern  is  with   earliest   man,  and  no 


162  ETHICS 

attempt  will  be  made  to  disentangle  religious  and  political 
forces,  the  purpose  being  merely  to  give  some  idea  of  the 
influence  of  both. 

Practically  all  the  happenings  about  prepaleolithic  men 
were  alive  with  the  deepest  mysteries,  and  they  caught  at 
any  straw  of  explanation  that  promised  guidance.  In  the 
presence  of  political  and  military  mysteries — unexpected 
alliances,  great  victories,  crushing  defeats  —  they  resorted 
for  explanation  to  continued  assistance  or  punishment  by 
dead  rulers,  and  gave  thanks  or  made  expiation  much  as 
they  would  to  living  rulers.  In  the  presence  of  storms, 
floods,  pestilences,  and  other  natural  disasters,  or  unusual 
pieces  of  good  fortune,  they  resorted  to  nature-gods,  and 
performed  such  rites,  sacrifices,  and  other  less  distinctively 
religious  actions,  as,  judging  from  the  conceived  characters 
of  the  gods  concerned,  were  thought  calculated  to  propi- 
tiate and  please  them.  Beyond  question  in  those  early 
days  there  was  the  strongest  incentive  to  behaviour 
believed  to  be  desired  by  these  ghostly  powers,  and  by 
their  living  representatives.  None  but  the  boldest  dared 
be  guilty  of  conduct  that  would  bring  down  their  anger 
and  vengeance,  especially  where  the  sin  of  the  individual 
was  supposed  to  entail,  as  it  often  was,  the  vengeance  of 
pestilence,  famine,  or  other  public  calamity  upon  the  whole 
people.  For  with  this  expectation,  human  vengeance  was 
sure  to  be  added  to  that  expected  from  the  gods. 

Thus  to  social  instincts  were  added  more  or  less  intelli- 
gent public  opinion  and  leadership,  religious  and  political, 
aiming  at  socially  beneficial  conduct.  Voluntary  action 
and  self-interest  tempted  the  individual  to  seek  escape 
from  the  exercise  of  social  instincts  that  resulted  in  self- 
sacrifice,  but  the  common  will  and  the  group  intelligence 
united  with  social  instincts  to  enjoin  actions  considered 
socially  beneficial,  to  repress  socially  injurious  actions, 
and  to  devise  social  actions  for  individual  performance 
beyond  what  instinct  provided  for. 


BIRTH  AND  GROWTH  OF  CONSCIENCE  IN  THE   RACE    163 

Rise  of  Conscience.  —  And  now  it  only  remains  to  point 
out  that  the  germ  of  conscience  is  already  present  in  each 
and  every  member  of  the  tribe,  in  so  far  as  he  joins  in 
voicing  religious,  political,  or  in  fact  any  form  of  public 
opinion. 

Approval  and  disapproval  are  favourable  and  unfavoura- 
ble judgments  on  conduct,  which,  while  heartily  or  person- 
ally entertained  by  the  individuals  making  them,  are  yet  felt 
to  be  more  than  personal,  indeed  are  felt  to  be  shared  with 
all  competent  persons.  The  individual  expresses  his  view, 
but  also  feels  that  he  represents  the  views  of  all  others 
worth  considering.  Now,  conceive  a  horde  of  from  thirty 
to  fifty  members,  all  turning  in  condemnation  on  an  indi- 
vidual, and  doing  it,  each  and  every  one  of  them,  freely, 
spontaneously,  naturally,  without  any  suspicion  of  reser- 
vation. Is  it  not  evident  that  each  would  feel  that  he 
was  voicing  his  opinion  of  the  action,  and  would  also  feel 
that  he  was  voicing  the  opinion  of  all  others  ?  Nor  is  it 
essential  that  all  the  group  should  be  present,  provided 
essentially  the  same  action  has  been  condemned  by  all 
before.  If  there  is  but  one  on-looker  who  witnesses  an 
action  that  the  group  has  repeatedly  condemned  to  his 
knowledge,  he  feels  that  his  condemnation  voices  the  com- 
mon judgment. 

Again,  observe  that  it  is  not  different  with  the  trans- 
gressing agent  himself.  When  he  performs,  or  is  about 
to  perform,  an  action  of  a  type  that  he  with  his  tribe  has 
repeatedly  condemned  in  others,  there  appears  in  him  the 
reverberation  of  his  tribe's  condemnation,  and  included  in 
it  his  own. 

And  so  it  is  with  obligation.  The  agent  and  all  others 
have  called  on  fellow-tribesmen  for  certain  actions  in  the 
past.  And,  if  the  former  is  tempted  by  self-interest  to 
omit  such  an  action,  there  returns  to  his  consciousness  his 
tribe's  demand  with  his  own  rolled  up  in  it. 

And  finally,  the  tribe  has  held  men  answerable  for  cer- 


164  ETHICS 

tain  trusts  committed  to  their  care.  And  each  individual 
with  such  a  trust  holds  himself  to  responsibility,  as  he  and 
•all  have  held  others  to  responsibility  in  the  past. 

In  short,  with  judgment  present  and  will  present  in  the 
individual,  there  is  the  possibility  of  common  judgment 
and  common  will,  and  of  that  representative  in  the  indi- 
vidual of  common  judgment  and  common  will  called  con- 
science. Each  member  of  the  tribe  is  conscious  of  what 
he  is  doing  when  he  favours  a  type  of  conduct,  or  opposes 
it,  or  makes  a  demand,  or  imposes  a  responsibility.  He 
has  will  and  self-conscious  judgment.  And  all  his  fellow- 
members  have  will  and  self-conscious  judgment.  And, 
moreover,  he  knows  when  they  agree  with  him,  and  is 
strongly  impressed,  because  of  his  social  nature,  with  the 
fact  of  their  agreement.  As  a  result,  there  is  in  the  self- 
conscious  individual  that  sense  of  the  common  will  and 
judgment  that  constitutes  conscience.  Conscience  first 
arose  with  a  consciousness  of  a  consensus  of  opinion  and 
demand  with  regard  to  conduct.^ 

And  of  course  this  means  that  animals  can  have  no 
conscience.  For  animals  have  no  will  and  judgment, 
no  common  will  and  judgment,  and  no  presence  or  aware- 
ness in  consciousness  of  either.  Indeed,  this  inability  on 
the  part  of  animals  became  evident  as  soon  as  it  appeared 
that  they  were  not  agents,  and  could  therefore  have  no 
idea  of  agency  and  no  conscience. 

Public  Opinion  and  Conscience^  their  Analysis  and  Inter- 
relations. —  It  will  be  readily  observed  that  the  influences 
operative  in  public  opinion  and  conscience  fall  into  two 
classes,  which  are  generally  opposed  each  to  the  other. 
These  are  the  conservative  influences  and  those  that  make 
for  change.     The  first  tend  to  enforce  rigid  adherence  to 

^  As  a  common  demand  is  made  only  when  the  interests  of  all,  either 
directly  or  indirectly  through  the  group,  are  thought  to  be  affected,  it  will 
be  readily  understood  why  conduct  instead  of  all  action  arouses  conscience, 
as  was  seen  to  be  the  caise  iu  Chapter  YI. 


BIRTH  AND  GROWTH  OF  CONSCIENCE  IN  THE  RACE    165 

recognized  types  of  social  behaviour,  and  in  general  they 
are  the  instinctive  nature  of  social  actions  themselves, 
their  instinctive  support  by  rewards  and  punishments,  the 
customary  character  that  social  actions  tend,  as  will  pres- 
ently appear,  to  take  on,  and  the  normally  conservative 
powers  of  religion.  The  second  class  of  influences  tends 
to  alter  recognized  types  of  action,  either  by  substituting 
for  them,  or  by  setting  alongside  of  them,  new  types 
enjoined  on  all  by  public  opinion  and  conscience.  Here 
it  is  that  intelligence  is  at  work,  individual  intelligence 
leading  the  individual  to  avoid  disadvantage  and  seek 
advantage,  and  common  intelligence  perceiving  advantage 
for  the  group  in  the  example  or  precept  of  men  who  there- 
upon have  a  chance  to  be  followed  as  leaders,  and  to 
initiate  new  customs  and  practices. 

The  interplay  of  the  two  tendencies  is  interesting. 
When  man  first  becomes  man  his  social  conduct  is  purely 
instinctive.  The  instinctive  social  actions  performed  by 
his  animal  ancestors  he  also  performs.  But  soon  a  dififer- 
ence  appears.  Men  become  conscious,  more  or  less  rapidly 
in  the  case  of  different  men  and  of  different  social  actions, 
that  they  are  performing  these  social  actions.  And, 
moreover,  the  group  comes  to  the  same  consciousness,  and, 
in  so  far  as  public  opinion  supports  these  modes  of  behav- 
iour, they  become  customary,  i.e.  all  the  members  of  the 
group  practise  them  and  demand  that  they  be  practised, 
and  all  know  that  all  are  doing  so.  Thus  behaviour  that 
was  at  first  merely  instinctive  becomes  customary,  and 
later,  if  public  opinion  continues  to  favour  it,  it  comes  to 
be  handed  down  among  the  cherished  traditions  of  the 
group. 

But,  in  the  second  place,  as  men  become  conscious  of 
the  social  actions  they  have  been  performing  instinctively 
or  with  but  a  dim  consciousness,  they  in  most  cases  tend 
to  add  to,  to  take  from,  in  some  way  to  transform  the 
■actions  more  or  less  notably,  and  they  do  so,  either  because 


166  ETHICS 

of  interest  in  the  group  and  desire  for  its  prosperity, 
or  because  of  self-interest,  or  because  of  differences  of 
temperament  consisting  in  modifications  of  the  instincts 
affected.  Of  course  the  tendency  to  modify  social  be- 
haviour, whether  by  force  of  example  or  by  persuasion, 
appears  first  in  individuals,  and  it  may  or  may  not  be 
adopted  by  the  group. 

For  here  it  is  that  the  conservative  influences  and  the 
influences  that  make  for  change  encounter  each  other. 
It  may  be  that  the  conservative  forces  are  stronger. 
Then  the  individuals  seeking  to  initiate  the  change  may 
be  treated  as  public  enemies,  e.g.  as  criminals,  or  they 
may  merely  be  balked  and  thwarted  and  made  to  feel 
uncomfortable.  Or,  the  forces  may  be  more  nearly  bal- 
anced, and  then,  while  the  group  may  allow  individuals 
to  perform  the  novel  actions  if  they  so  desire,  it  may  not 
adopt  them  and  enjoin  them  on  all.  Finally,  it  may  be 
that  the  radical  forces  are  the  stronger.  Then  the  modi- 
fications will  be  adopted  by  the  group,  the  instinctive  and 
customary  social  conduct  will  be  transformed  accordingly, 
and  the  modified  customs  will  be  insisted  on  by  public 
opinion  and  conscience,  and  handed  down  as  items  of  the 
traditional  code  of  behaviour.  Of  course  some  modifica- 
tions inevitably  take  place  in  time,  and  exist  even  among 
the  most  primitive  men  that  we  can  investigate.  But 
every  customary  item  of  the  code  has  its  roots  in  social 
instincts,  though  upon  these  roots  there  have  been  grafted 
modifications  more  or  less  important,  due  to  the  activity 
of  human  reason. 

In  any  group  there  are,  therefore,  at  all  times,  two 
opposed  influences  in  public  opinion,  and  the  same  influ- 
ences in  conscience.  The  first  may  be  called  the  instinct- 
custom  element.  It  consists  of  instincts  which  have 
become  customary  and  of  other  customary  items,  which, 
however,  were  originally  supplied  by  individual  intelli- 
gence.     The  second  may  be  called  the  insight  element. 


BIBTH  AND  GROWTH  OF  CONSCIENCE   IN  THE  RiVCE    167 

It  is  composed  of  proposed  modifications  and  supplemen- 
tations of  the  customary  code,  which,  as  mere  proposals, 
may  be  adopted  and  become  customary,  as  has  happened 
to  others  before,  or  may  be  rejected. 

And  in  the  light  of  this  discussion  the  interplay  of 
public  opinion  and  conscience  becomes  somewhat  clearer, 
though  the  question  has  been  discussed  in  the  last  chap- 
ter and  needs  little  further  consideration  here.  On  the 
one  hand  public  opinion  has  always  largely  moulded  con- 
science, especially  so  far  as  public  opinion  is  crystallized 
into  custom,  but  always  with  the  reservations  that  con- 
science may  be  imperfectly  acquainted  and  impressed  with 
public  opinion,  and  that  individual  temperaments  are  far 
from  being  wholly  plastic.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  indi- 
vidual consciences  are  the  raw  material  out  of  which 
public  opinion  in  moral  matters  is  formed,  and  these  con- 
sciences in  their  individuality  tend,  in  the  way  just  sug- 
gested, to  alter  and  supplement  public  opinion.  And  so 
it  sometimes  happens  that,  though  all  consciences  oppose 
him,  the  man  of  moral  convictions  stands  out  alone 
against  them  all,  in  full  assurance  that  he  is  right  and 
they  wrong.  And  such  a  man  may  even  oppose  a  sacred 
moral  tradition  to  which  all  his  fellows  are  fanatically 
devoted,  well  convinced  that  the  heart  and  essence  of 
right  is  on  his  side.  This  last  is  an  extreme  case  of  the 
insight  element  of  conscience  opposed  to  the  instinct-cus- 
tom element  of  other  consciences,  and  possibly  of  its  own 
as  well,  and  in  such  extreme  cases  there  are  the  essentials 
of  a  moral  tragedy  of  the  kind  enacted  in  the  executions 
of  Socrates  and  of  Christ.  But  of  course  there  are  cases 
where  the  individual  conscience  merely  seeks  to  modify 
moral  custom  a  little,  it  may  be  imperceptibly,  and  many 
cases  where  it  merely  seeks  to  carry  out  into  detail  the 
schematic  outline  of  custom. 

In  considering  the  interrelations  of  public  opinion  and 
conscience,  it   only  remains  to  point  out  explicitly  that 


168  ETHICS 

public  opinion,  as  the  term  has  been  used  in  this  section, 
is  but  another  name  for  public  conscience.  For  public 
opinion  has  been  considered  only  in  so  far  as  it  is  opinion 
passed  upon  social  conduct  or  conduct  disregardful  of 
social  custom,  and  besides  it  was  explicitly  shown  that 
every  individual  who  genuinely  shared  in  public  opinion 
so  described  was  himself  conscientious  at  the  time.  Of 
course  there  is  public  opinion  on  other  subjects  besides 
conduct,  but  that  has  not  been  under  consideration. 
And,  of  course,  public  opinion  with  regard  to  conduct 
may  be  hasty  and  rash,  and  may  even  be  grievously  mis- 
taken, but  so,  for  that  matter,  may  private  conscience  be. 

§  5.     The  Development  of  Group  Consciences 

Widely  as  the  consciences  of  different  groups  and  indi- 
viduals belonging  to  the  human  family  have  come  to  dif- 
fer, it  is  reasonably  certain  that  the  original  consciences 
out  of  which  they  developed  were  very  similar,  and 
indeed  that  all  belonged  to  the  same  type.  For  all  con- 
sciences were  developed  out  of  instincts  enforcing  per- 
formance of  certain  social  actions  and  abstinence  from 
certain  anti-social  actions,  and,  as  the  whole  of  mankind 
is  in  all  probability  descended  from  one  and  the  same  spe- 
cies of  non-human  animals,  it  is  equally  probable  that  the 
instinctive  sources  of  human  consciences  were  all  of  the 
same  type,  and  consequently  that  the  earliest  consciences 
were  all  of  the  same  type. 

But  similar  as  consciences  were  when  they  first  ap- 
peared, they  did  not  long  continue  similar.  Different 
groups  lived  in  different  environments,  wandered  into 
very  different  habitats,  were  ruled  by  leaders  of  various 
endowments,  and  in  other  ways  and  through  other  influ- 
ences came  to  vary  from  one  another  in  their  characteris- 
tics, and  among  them  in  their  consciences.  Whatever 
the  causes,  of  the  fact  of  variation  there  is  no  doubt. 
Consequently  there  is  no  such  thing  as  the  development 


BIRTH  AND  GROWTH  OF  CONSCIENCE  IN  THE  RACE    169 

of  conscience.  Rather  are  there  different  lines  of  devel- 
opment that  the  consciences  of  different  groups  followed. 
These  must  now  be  suggested. 

Interplay  of  Voluntary  Action  and  Conscience.  —  The 
last  section  has  probably  made  it  plain,  and  this  will 
make  it  plainer,  that,  aside  from  happenings  in  nature 
over  which  man  has  no  control,  the  interplay  of  voluntary 
action  and  conscience  is  what  determines  the  fortunes  of 
different  groups  of  human  beings.  If  in  any  group  vol- 
untary action,  which  is  an  intelligent  force,  was  held  in 
check  only  by  blind  social  instincts,  egoism  disrupted  the 
group,  with  the  extinction  of  its  members  as  a  result, 
unless  to  be  sure  they  were  absorbed  into  other  groups. 
Whenever  any  group  continued  long  in  existence,  it  did 
so  because  conscience,  public  and  private,  subjected  egoism 
to  control. 

But  it  would  be  a  mistake  to  infer  from  this  that  any 
conscience  that  happened  to  grow  up  insured  the  con- 
tinued existence  of  the  group  in  which  it  appeared.  His- 
tory knows  of  many  peoples  with  consciences  who  have 
perished  nevertheless,  and  anthropology  gives  evidence  of 
many  more.  For  group  consciences  are  of  innumerable 
kinds,  as  are  the  volitional  endowments  of  groups,  and 
the  adjustments  in  groups  of  conscience  and  voluntary 
action.  And  in  fact  most  of  the  endowments  of  con- 
science and  of  volition,  and  most  of  the  adjustments  of 
one  to  the  other,  have  been  unfortunate,  so  much  so  that 
they  have  either  exterminated  the  groups  in  which  they 
existed,  or  kept  them  stagnant  and  unprogressive,  or  sent 
them  along  unprofitable  lines  of  development,  or  held 
them  to  such  slow  development  that  they  were  surpassed, 
and  probably  finally  absorl)ed,  by  more  progressive  groups. 
In  only  a  few  groups  have  voluntary  action,  conscience, 
and  their  adjustment  been  such  as  to  insure  steady  and 
healthful  progress  for  themselves  and  for  their  groups. 
Let  us  consider  some  of  the  most  typical  kinds  of  volun- 


170  ETHICS 

tary  action,  of  conscience,  and  of  adjustment  between 
them,  first  taking  up  the  ineffective  types,  and  then  the 
effective.  By  doing  so  the  development  of  consciences 
can  best  be  studied. 

Effective  Will.  —  That  groups  cannot  progress  if  their 
members  are  weak  in  will  or  unresourceful  is  little  more 
than  a  truism,  and  besides  is  a  corollary  from  the  discus- 
sion in  §  3  of  the  effects  of  the  rise  of  volition.  Such 
groups  may  continue  in  existence,  for  animals  without 
any  will  continue  to  exist.  But  for  them  progress  is 
impossible  in  general,  and  is  equally  impossible  in  re- 
spect to  conscience,  for  stationary  groups  have  stationary 
consciences. 

Again,  groups  do  not  progress,  and  consciences  do  not 
develop,  if  these  consciences  are  of  any  of  the  types  now 
to  be  described.  Each  of  the  types  may  appear  at  any 
stage  of  development,  whether  at  the  dawn  of  human  life, 
or  at  any  subsequent  stage,  even  the  highest  state  of 
civilization  to  which  man  has  attained. 

Stagnant  Consciences.  —  First,  where  conscience  success- 
fully undertakes  unduly  to  oppose  and  restrict  individual 
initiative,  thus  limiting  conduct  to  two  classes,  the  pre- 
scribed and  the  forbidden,  and  permitting  the  third  class 
of  the  allowed,  of  conduct  subject  to  individual  prudence, 
preference,  and  caprice,  practically  to  disappear,  there 
progress  is  impossible.  Volition  being  curbed  and  ham- 
pered in  every  field,  it  is  equally  curbed  and  hampered 
within  conscience,  with  the  result  that  moral  initiative, 
the  insight  element  in  conscience,  either  does  not  appear 
at  all  or  else  is  strangled  into  submission  to  rules  and 
regulations.  In  any  of  the  earliest  human  groups  in  which 
the  insight  element  did  not  develop,  whether  owing  to  lack 
of  resource  and  intelligence,  or  because  of  the  restrictions 
imposed  by  conscience,  conscience  continued  to  exact  pre- 
cisely the  same  social  actions  and  abstinences  that  were 
previously  exacted  by  instinct,  and  these  groups  were  ac- 


BIRTH  AND  GROWTH  OF  CONSCIENCE  IN  THE  RACE    171 

cordingly  held  down  to  the  animal  level.  And,  while  in 
groups  in  which  the  insight  element  existed  for  a  time 
and  then  disappeared,  leaving  only  the  instinct-custom  or 
code  element,  a  higher  development  was  reached  by  the 
groups  and  by  their  consciences,  yet  both  came  to  a  halt 
with  the  disappearance  of  insight,  and  thereafter  devel- 
oped no  further.  There  is  reason  to  believe  that  the 
majority  of  human  groups  and  consciences  have  been  of 
this  type,  their  resourcefulness,  non-moral  and  moral, 
being  limited  or  being  repressed  by  conscience,  so  that 
sooner  or  later  they  have  become  the  slaves  of  custom 
and  tradition. 1  For  when  this  moral  formalism  gains 
control,  it  always  tends  to  clinch  its  hold.  Moral  rules 
are  more  and  more  shorn  of  their  flexibility,  and  more  and 
more  cumbered  with  detailed  prescriptions,  till  the  lives 
of  men  are  rigidly  ruled,  not  only  in  larger  matters,  but 
also  in  all  the  trivial  details  of  manner,  dress,  ceremonial, 
etc.  Under  such  conditions  man's  powers  of  initiative  are 
bound  about  as  are  the  feet  of  high-class  Chinese  women, 
and,  as  long  as  this  state  of  things  continues,  normal 
development  is  impossible.  Even  if  individual  will  is 
full  of  strength  and  resource,  it  is  too  much  hampered 
by  conscience,  public  and  private,  to  achieve  any  useful 
results. 

Radical  Consciences.  —  A  second  type  of  conscience 
inconsistent  with  development  is  the  weak  type  that 
inadequately  curbs  individual  will,  permitting  prescrip- 
tions and  prohibitions  to  dwindle  to  a  minimum,  while 
self-interest,  preference,  and  caprice  extend  their  rule 
over  very  nearly  the  whole  of  conduct.  Under  this  type 
of  conscience  lawlessness  prevails  everywhere,  and  of 
course  the  rule  of  the  instinct-custom  element  soon  ceases 
to  be  generally  observed  and  practised,  leaving  the  in- 
sight element  greatly  in  preponderance.  Such  a  general 
weakening  of  conscience  and  dwindling  of  the  instinct- 
1  Cf.  Maine,  Ancient  Law,  opeuing  discussions  in  CIis.  IL  and  IV. 


172  ETHICS 

custom  element  is  equally  fatal  to  the  healthy  develop- 
ment of  conscience  and  of  the  groups  in  which  this  type 
exists.  For  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  survival  and 
vigour  of  groups,  social  instincts  and  customs  are  highly 
efficient  forces.  Considered  in  the  large,  they  have  been, 
as  was  insisted  of  social  instincts  in  §  3,  the  chief  factors 
making  for  survival  and  vigour.  To  be  sure,  they  are  not 
ideally  efficient  to  that  complex  end,  and  they  can  be  im- 
proved in  detail,  and  indeed  must  be  altered  into  adjust- 
ment to  changing  conditions,  if  their  serviceableness  is  to 
continue  undiminished.  But  when  all  this  is  admitted,  it 
must  still  be  insisted  that  every  advancement  must  leave 
the  main  body  of  instincts  and  customs  intact,  proceeding 
upon  them  as  a  basis,  and  altering  and  supplementing 
them  in  detail  rather  than  in  substance.  Human  fore- 
sight and  judgment,  especially  the  foresight  and  judgment 
of  early  man,  are  decidedly  limited,  and  in  matters  that 
rise  above  details  they  are  inferior,  in  early  man  at  least, 
to  the  wisdom  of  instincts  and  customs.  Accordingly 
groups,  especially  primitive  groups,  which  are  constantly 
tampering  with  their  systems  of  morality,  attempting  to 
improve  them,  are  more  likely  to  decrease  than  to  increase 
their  chances  for  survival  and  vigour.  In  how  many 
groups  this  radical  and  formless  type  of  conscience  has 
existed,  it  is  not  easy  to  say.  Little  evidence  of  its  exist- 
ence in  tribes  at  a  low  stage  of  advancement  is  found,  and 
it  would  not  be  surprising  if  undeveloped  groups  in  which 
it  appeared  were  exterminated  too  soon  to  leave  any  trace 
of  themselves.  Besides,  the  rationalistic  type  of  conscience 
is  not  very  likely  to  appear  till  a  comparatively  advanced 
stage  of  intelligence  and  enlightenment  had  been*reached, 
and  it  seems  more  probable  that  its  presence  is  confined  to 
higher  barbarian  and  civilized  peoples.  Probably  Athens 
about  the  time  of  Pericles  and  France  during  the  great 
Revolution  furnish  the  best  examples  in  point;  though 
fortunately  the  marvellous  recuperative  power,  especially 


BIRTH  AND  GROWTH  OF  CONSCIENCE   IN  THE  RACE    173 

the  teachableness  of  the  latter  nation,  give  much  promise 
of  rescuing  it  from  this  the  greatest  peril  of  its  history. 
There  is  little  risk  in  the  statement  that  a  too  rigid  and 
conservative  conscience  is  a  moral  danger  that  rather 
threatens  primitive  groups,  while  a  too  loose  and  radical 
conscience  rather  threatens  advanced  and  rationalized 
peoples.  At  all  events  when  a  group's  conscience  is 
either  too  conservative  or  too  radical,  steady  and  continu- 
ous development  ceases  to  be  possible  for  it,  inasmuch  as 
its  group  begins  to  lose  in  vigour. 

Perverted  Consciences.  —  We  have  considered  the  cases 
where  conduct  is  regulated  which  had  better  be  left  to 
individual  initiative,  and  where  conduct  which  should  be 
regulated  is  left  to  individual  license.  In  both  cases  con- 
science diminishes  the  group's  chances  for  vigour  and  sur- 
vival, and  therefore  for  development.  A  third  type  of 
conscience  inconsistent  with  development  is  the  type  that 
prohibits  conduct  that  makes  for  vigour  and  survival, 
which  prescribes  conduct  that  diminishes  the  group's 
chances  for  vigour  and  survival,  or  which  does  both.  Of 
course  every  conscience  has  to  some  extent  retarded  its 
group's  progress  or  hastened  its  decline  by  its  practice  in 
drawing  the  dividing  line  between  prohibitions  and  pre- 
scriptions, though  serious  instances  of  consciences  of  this 
type  are  probably  less  common  than  of  consciences  belong- 
ing to  the  two  types  before  discussed.  Conscience  has 
chiefly  retarded  development,  either  by  unduly  curtailing 
liberty  and  initiative,  or  by  allowing  undue  license.  Still, 
cases  of  the  third  type  have  existed,  and  call  for  mention 
here.  But  they  differ  too  much  from  group  to  group  to 
allow  of  profitable  discussion.  Conscience  has  hampered 
development  by  all  sorts  of  prohibitions  and  prescriptions, 
which  it  is  as  impossible  as  it  is  unnecessary  to  catalogue, 
or,  indeed,  to  do  more  than  suggest  in  tliis  summary  fashion. 
What  can  profitably  be  said  of  them  can  best  be  said  under 
the  next  heading. 


174  ETHICS 

Social  Vitality.  —  For  the  substance  of  the  discussion  so 
far  can  be  summed  up  in  three  statements :  groups  that 
are  unresourceful  and  have  weak  wills  cannot  develop; 
even  groups  that  are  strong  of  will  and  intelligent  will 
not  develop  if  their  conscience,  public  and  private,  so 
supervises  the  voluntary  actions  of  their  members  as  not  to 
increase  the  groups'  vitality,  or  so  supervises  these  actions 
as  to  diminish  the  groups'  vitality;  groups  with  strong 
will  and  intelligence  will  continue  in  steady  and  healthful 
development  as  long  as  their  consciences  increase  the 
groups'  vitality,  i.e.  their  vigour  as  groups  and  their  sur- 
vival-power. These  statements  may  seem  complicated, 
but  they  really  are  little  short  of  self-evident,  and  a  short 
discussion  will  make  their  meaning  plain. 

Generally  speaking,  by  a  group's  vitality  is  meant  its 
ability  and  opportunities  to  survive,  its  efficiency  and 
vigour,  together  with  its  resources.  But  fortunately  the 
elements  of  vitality  can  be  analyzed  into  more  familiar 
parts,  and  thereby  the  conception  can  be  made  plainer.^ 
For,  still  speaking  very  generally,  there  are  five  sources 
of  danger  for  groups,  and  the  ability  and  resources  needed 
successfully  to  meet  these  dangers  fall  into  five  subdi- 
visions. (1)  Unreasoning  nature  (all  of  nature  below 
man)  may  injure  or  exterminate  a  group  and  its  members, 
either  by  direct  attack,  e.g.  storms,  diseases,  or  indirectly 
by  failure  of  food  or  of  other  necessaries.  The  group  and 
its  members  must  have  the  natural  resources  and  the  abili- 
ties, i.e.  the  habits  of  action,  that  will  enable  it  to  increase 
what  may  roughly  be  called  its  physical  strength  and  skill 
if  it  is  to  survive  and  develop.  Most  trades,  and  some 
professions  and  callings,  minister  to  this  end.  (2)  Each 
group  has  other  human  groups  as  its  rivals,  ready  to 
interfere  with   its   survival  and  vigour  in  various  ways. 

*  For  a  fuller  analysis  see  the  chapter  on  welfare,  though  general  wel- 
fare consists  of  social  vitality  and  individual  welfare  combined,  as  will 
presently  appear. 


BIRTH  AND  GROWTH  OF  CONSCIENCE  IN  THE  RACE    175 

In  primitive  times,  physical  attack  by  groups  on  one 
another  was  all  but  continuous,  and  consequently  mili- 
tary resource  and  ability  was  essential  to  development. 
In  recent  times,  while  military  power  is  still  necessary, 
other  forms  of  activity  are  also  needed.  (3)  There  are 
not  only  natural  but  also  supernatural  powers  taking  part 
in  shaping  the  fortunes  of  groups,  and  men  have  always, 
in  their  religious  practices,  sought  to  adjust  themselves 
wisely  to  these  powers.  Evidently  unwise  behaviour  in 
this  department  seriously  affects  human  fortunes,  while 
man  probably  has  as  yet  but  very  imperfect  ideas  of 
the  advantage  that  will  come  from  wise  adjustment. 
(4)  Though  at  any  time  a  group  is  strong  in  the  three 
directions  discussed,  it  may  not  continue  so ;  danger  may 
threaten  it  from  the  future.  If  it  is  to  survive  and  de- 
velop, its  numbers  must  be  maintained,  indeed  increased 
by  births,  and  its  membership  must  be  made  up  of 
stronger  material,  through  the  instrumentality  of  well- 
matched  unions,  and  of  efficient  education.  Activity  in 
the  family  and  in  the  school,  in  the  broadest  sense  of  the 
word,  is  what  chiefly  ministers  to  this  result.  (5)  Finally, 
each  group  is  in  danger  of  internal  disorganization.  It  has 
not  vitality  unless  it  is  a  strongly  organized  unity  —  not 
rigidly  organized,  or  inflexibly  organized,  but  strongly 
organized.  There  are  many  forces  tending  to  disorganize 
groups,  but  a  group  with  vitality  holds  these  forces  in 
check,  and  has  them  under  control.  In  familiar  terms, 
in  order  to  insure  vitality,  the  political  life  of  a  group  must 
be  healthy.  These,  then,  are  the  parts  of  vitality,  very 
generally  described:  resource  and  capacity  for  meeting 
physical  conditions,  adjustment  to  other  human  groups, 
to  superhuman  powers,  and  to  the  future,  and  strong 
organization.  And  any  group  has  vitality  which  has 
capacities  and  resources  —  resources  being  at  the  com- 
mand of  groups  with  proper  capacities  —  in  these  five 
directions,  while  the  relative  vitality  of  different  groups 


176  ETHICS 

depends  on  their  relative  capacities  in  these  directions. 
If,  then,  assuming  will-power  and  intelligence,  a  group's 
conscience,  public  and  private,  so  supervises  voluntary 
action  as  to  assist  in  and  permit  of  the  formation  of 
habits  of  action  that  increase  the  group's  vitality,  as 
thus  analyzed,  the  group  and  its  conscience,  will  develop, 
otherwise  neither  will,  at  least  neither  will  develop  long 
and  steadily,  unless,  to  be  sure,  through  some  external 
agency,  the  type  of  conscience  comes  to  be  changed. ^ 

To  avoid  possible  misunderstanding,  it  should  be 
pointed  out  that  it  is  not  necessary  for  all  consciences,  it 
is  not  necessary  for  any  conscience  to  supervise  action 
vrith  a  view  to  increasing  the  group's  vitality,  though 
normally  such  an  end  is  at  times  kept  in  mind  by  some 
consciences.  The  present  question,  however,  is  not  one 
of  ends,  but  one  of  results.  Provided  the  consciences  of 
the  group  in  fact  so  supervise  action  as  to  minister  to 
vitality,  it  is,  from  the  present  point  of  view,  a  matter 
of  indifference  whether  they  do  so  consciously  or  uncon- 
sciously. The  problem  of  the  supreme  end  of  morality 
will  be  discussed  in  the  next  chapter. 

And  it  may  also  be  pointed  out  that  it  is  not  necessary 
for  all  individual  consciences  to  minister  equally  to  the 
vitality  of  the  group  in  all  directions,  in  the  industrial, 
the  religious,  the  family,  and  in  all  other  directions. 
Evidently  it  is  not  necessary  for  each  individual's  con- 
science to  exact  of  him  action  promotive  of  vitality  in  all 
directions  ;  in  view  of  the  economy  of  the  division,  of 
labour,  such  a  course  would  not  maximize  the  vitality  of 
the  group.  And  it  is  also  evident  that  it  is  not  promotive 
of  vitality  for  every  individual  to  have  a  conscience 
equally  active  in  all  directions.  One  man  is  better 
informed  about  religion,  and  there    it    is    conducive   to 

^  If  the  conscience  improves  its  type  through  internal  agency,  it  might 
be  apparently  and  temporarily,  but  would  not  be  genuinely,  of  the  type 
described. 


BIRTH  AND  GROWTH  OF  CONSCIENCE  IN  THE  RACE     177 

vitality  that  his  conscience  should  be  especially  active  ; 
another  is  better  informed  about  warfare,  and  there  it  is 
best  for  his  conscience  to  be  more  than  usually  active ; 
another  is  better  informed  about  education,  etc.  In  other 
words,  vitality  is  best  promoted  when  all  individual  con- 
sciences efficiently  minister  to  it  in  tlieir  cooperative  super- 
vision of  conduct.  More  briefly,  development  is  healthiest 
when  the  public  conscience,  in  its  organization,  in  its 
emphasis,  and  in  its  toleration,  most  efficiently  ministers 
to  vitality. 

We  see  then  that  many  consciences  have  throttled 
resourcefulness,  and  have  accordingly  repressed  develop- 
ment in  themselves  and  in  their  groups  ;  that  others  have 
disregarded  the  wisdom  of  tried  practice,  and  have  so 
disarranged  and  disorganized  themselves  and  their  groups 
as  to  make  progress  impossible  ;  that  others  have  per- 
versely favoured  devitalizing  and  opposed  vitalizing  con- 
duct, and  thus  brought  various  calamities  upon  their 
groups  and  checked  healthy  advance  ;  and  finally,  that 
a  few,  a  very  few,  have  properly  proportioned  law 
and  liberty,  and  properly  apportioned  prohibitions  and 
prescriptions,  increasing  their  groups'  vitality  steadily, 
wholesomely,  surely,  and  thus  insuring  continuous  de- 
velopment in  aU  fields,  moral  and  non-moral,  from  sav- 
agery, through  barbarism,  up  to  civilization  that  is  still 
advancing.  And  all  these  results  can  be  summed  up 
in  a  sentence :  assuming  strong  will  and  intelligence,  a 
healthily  developing  public  conscience  steadily  increases 
vitality,  while  a  public  conscience  that  does  not  further 
vitality  holds  down  both  itself  and  the  group  in  which  it 
exists. 

Individual  Welfare.  —  So  far  the  increasing  service 
rendered  by  healthily  developing  conscience  to  social 
vitality  has  been  discussed,  but  nothing  has  been  said  of 
Any  solicitude  on  the  part  of  conscience  for  individual 
welfare,  or  of  any  service  to  individuals.     Even  on  the 


178  ETHICS 

surface  this  is  surprising,  as  it  is  commonly  held  to  be  a 
duty  to  serve  others  if  not  to  serve  one's  self  also.  And 
in  fact  a  more  careful  consideration  will  compel  the  con- 
clusion that  conscience  is  concerned  for  the  interest  of 
individuals  as  well  as  for  the  vitality  of  groups. 

First  note  that  what  corresponds  in  animals  to  con- 
science in  man,  the  instinctive  encouragement  and  dis- 
couragement of  social  and  anti-social  actions  respectively^ 
does  not  directly  serve  individuals.  The  conduct  which 
strengthens  a  group  or  a  species  in  the  struggle  for  exist- 
ence is  the  conduct  that  these  instincts  tend  to  favour,  and 
such  conduct  tends  to  prevail.  But  in  so  far  as  conduct  is 
merely  of  advantage  to  the  individual,  and  has  no  effect 
on  the  survival  of  a  group  or  species,  it  in  no  wise  tends 
to  prevail.  Mere  natural  selection  has  no  concern  for 
individuals,  the  supervisory  social  instincts  of  animals 
minister  only  to  the  vitality  of  groups  and  species. 

But  with  man  it  is  different.  For  interest  in  persons 
may  be  called  a  by-product,  incident  to  the  qualities  that 
essentially  characterize  man.  As  a  self-conscious  being 
man  is  awarfe  of  his  sufferings  and  failures,  of  his  pleas- 
ures and  successes  as  his,  and  as  a  being  with  will  he 
undertakes  to  avoid  the  first  and  to  secure  the  second. 
If  animals  are  to  become  self-conscious,  they  must  also 
become  interested  in  their  own  welfare.  But  more  is 
true.  In  addition  to  self-consciousness,  and  interest  in 
self,  man  is  conscious  of  others  as  self-conscious  agents^ 
and  of  what  they  as  such  are  conscious  of,  whether  it  be 
suffering,  failure,  pleasure,  or  success,  and  moreover  he 
is  interested  in  the  welfare  of  others.  And  nature  seizes 
upon  this  consciousness  and  interest,  and  uses  it  for  her 
own  purposes,  metaphorically  speaking  of  course.  There 
is,  namely,  no  force  so  efficient  for  cementing  society 
together  as  sympathy,  interest  of  each  individual  in  all 
othere  of  the  same  group.  Acts  of  self-sacrifice  that 
strengthen  the  group,  but  that  selfishness  cries  out  against^ 


BIRTH  AND  GROWTH  OF  CONSCIENCE  IN  THE  RACE     179 

are  cheerfully,  it  may  be  enthusiastically  performed,  when 
prompted  by  sympathy.  It  thus  happens  that  groups 
made  up  of  mutually  loyal  and  sympathetic  members  have 
an  advantage,  through  solidarity,  in  their  rivalry  with 
other  groups.  And  as  sympathetic  interest  in  the  happi- 
ness of  others  broadens  to  take  in  larger  and  more  varied 
bodies  of  men,  groups  increase  in  size,  and  thus  gain  an 
added  advantage.  But  this  spreading  out  of  interest  in 
others  is  very  slow.  Savages  and  even  barbarians  have 
too  little  knowledge  and  imagination  of  the  experience  of 
others  to  sympathize  with  them  at  all  effectively.  And  in 
fact  they  look  on  very  great  suffering  wholly  unperturbed. 
Suffering,  agony  even,  does  not  seem  to  strike  home  to 
them,  and  they  do  little,  it  may  be  nothing,  to  relieve  it. 
One  of  the  distinguishing  characteristics  of  dawning  civil- 
ization is  a  very  large  increase  in  interest  in  individuals. 
Men  then  come  to  have  an  effective  interest  not  only  in 
their  country,  but  also  in  their  countrymen,  becoming  con- 
cerned, first  to  succour  them  from  suffering,  next  to  increase 
their  happiness,  and  ultimately  to  add,  partly  by  remov- 
ing restrictions  and  partly  by  giving  positive  aid,  to  their 
welfare  in  all  directions  instead  of  merely  in  the  direction 
of  happiness.  And  as  civilization  advances  the  interest 
broadens,  till  at  length  the  time  comes  when  there  is 
interest,  not  only  in  fellow-countrymen,  but  in  all  human 
beings.  And  finally  the  welfare  of  all  sentient  beings, 
animals  as  well  as  men,  awakens  the  interest  of  man. 

But  if  interest  in  self  and  others  were  merely  strong 
enough  to  cement  groups  together,  and  thus  to  increase 
their  vitality,  it  would  have  no  title  to  separate  mention 
here.  In  fact  it  is  stronger  than  that,  not  merely  in  case 
of  interest  in  one's  self,  where  the  fact  is  patent,  but  also  in 
the  case  of  interest  in  others.  For  in  order  that  mutual 
loyalty  and  sympathy  should  operate  in  holding  societies 
together,  it  is  necessary  that  the  kindly  feelings  should 
be  intensified,  and  that  the  imagination  should  be  greatly 


180  ETHICS 

strengthened.  And  when  the  feelings  and  the  imagination 
are  once  aroused  to  the  presence  of  pleasure  and  prosperity, 
pain  and  adversity  in  others,  the  intrinsic  attractive  and 
repulsive  power  of  these  experiences  operate  of  them- 
selves, and  impel  men  to  a  solicitude  for  others  quite 
independent  of  and,  in  many  cases,  in  greater  intensity 
than  what  would  be  called  for  by  the  needs  of  vitality. 
Indeed,  among  "  sentimentalists  "  sympathy  often  leads  to 
behaviour  that  diminishes  vitality.  And  besides,  after  the 
sense  of  justice  is  somewhat  developed,  and  after  some 
reflective  consideration  is  given  to  the  problem  of  duty, 
conscience  finds  it  impossible  to  deny  that  the  welfare  of 
the  individuals  cooperating  together  for  vitality  is  an  end 
intrinsically  worthy  of  service.  It  thus  happens  that  the 
interest  in  persons,  that  was  made  possible  by  man's  self- 
eonsciousness,  and  was  first  developed  in  him  because  of 
its  service  to  social  vitality,  later  entered  upon  an  inde- 
pendent development  of  its  own,  and  was  supported  by 
the  sense  of  justice  present  in  the  conscience  whose  bio- 
logical function  consists  in  ministering  to  vitality. 

And  it  of  course  follows,  as  a  result  of  man's  natural 
and  conscientious  interest  in  the  welfare  of  self  and  others, 
and  finally  of  all  sentient  beings,^  that  some  alteration 
should  be  made  in  the  prohibitions,  prescriptions,  and 
allowances  of  conscience.  For,  in  so  far  as  they  are  in- 
terested in  themselves  and  others,  men  will  unite  in  refus- 
ing to  enforce  regulations  that  ruthlessly  disregard  the 
welfare  of  individuals,  however  promotive  of  social  vitality 
the  regulations  may  be,  and  in  applauding  and  approving 
modes  of  behaviour  and  regulations  that  are  thought  to 
serve  individual  interests,  even  though  they  decrease  social 
vitality.  In  addition  to  guarding  social  vitality,  conscience, 
as  it  develops,  keeps  individual  welfare  in  mind. 

Social  Welfare. —  It  thus  happens,  that  while  conscience, 

*  Interest  in  undomesticated  animals  of  no  service  to  man  is  a  good 
instance  of  the  independent  development  of  interest  in  happiness. 


BIRTH  AND  GROWTH  OF  CONSCIENCE   IN  THE  RACE     181 

public  and  private,  was  at  first  careless  of  individual  inter- 
ests, and  serviceable  chiefly  to  social  vitality,  it  came, 
owing  to  the  growth  of  self-interest  and  sympathy,  to  con- 
sider individual  interest  as  well  as  social  vitality,  and  next 
to  consider  the  former  as  much  as  the  latter,  till  now,  in 
the  most  advanced  nations  at  least,  conscience  tends  to  cher- 
ish social  vitality  largely  as  a  means  to  the  welfare  of  the 
individual  members  of  society.  This  is  far  from  meaning 
that  social  vitality  is  no  longer  ministered  to  by  conscience. 
For,  in  the  first  place,  the  welfare  of  individuals  would  be 
diminished  by  any  considerable  decrease  in  social  vitality. 
And,  in  the  second  place,  the  framework  of  the  moral 
edifice  was  constructed  during  the  early  days  when  con- 
science confined  itself  to  its  original  biological  function 
of  serving  social  vitality,  and  that  framework,  however 
much  it  may  be  adapted  to  later  conditions  in  the  interest 
of  individual  welfare,  must  needs  continue  its  oflSce  of 
maintaining  social  vitality.  But  it  is  true,  that  while 
the  ultimate  effect  of  the  activity  of  conscience,  public 
and  private,  at  one  time  was  to  increase  social  vitality, 
the  ultimate  effect  of  that  activity  now  is  to  increase  both 
social  vitality  and  individual  welfare,  and  the  tendency 
is  to  serve  the  latter  even  more  than  the  former.  Of 
course  service  of  social  vitality  is  characteristic,  as  it 
Always  has  been,  only  of  the  societies  that  ai-e  becoming 
more  powerful  in  the  five  directions  before  discussed. 
Moreover,  it  is  probably  more  accurate  to  say  that  con- 
science undertakes  to  serve  the  interests  of  the  members 
of  society,  than  to  say  that  it  actually  serves  those  inter- 
ests, since  attempts  at  service  in  that  direction  are  by  no 
means  always  successful.  But  the  growth  of  moral  inter- 
est in  individuals  at  the  expense,  though  not  to  the  dimi- 
nution, of  moral  service  of  social  vigour,  is  a  fact  plainly 
to  be  read  on  the  sui-face  of  history.  And  it  is  interest- 
ing to  note  in  passing  —  the  problem  of  the  supreme  end 
will  be  discussed  in  the  next  chapter  —  how  much  more 


182  ETHICS 

clearly  defined  the  purpose  of  conscience  becomes  when 
individuals  are  substituted  for  society  as  the  ultimate 
beneficiaries  of  moral  action. 

Accordingly,  as  civilization  advances,  it  may  be  said  that 
developing  consciences  come  to  minister  to  the  vitality  of 
groups  and  to  the  well-being  of  their  members,  and  that 
the  latter  ministration  tends  to  grow  greater  as  compared 
with  the  former.  Without  forgetting  the  last  statement, 
it  will  be  convenient  to  use  social  welfare  as  the  designa- 
tion for  the  combination,  a  shifting  one  to  be  sure,  of 
social  vitality  and  individual  welfare.  Of  course  the 
welfare  of  a  society  depends  in  part  upon  its  power  to 
protect  and  strengthen  itself  as  an  organized  unity,  i.e.  in 
part  upon  its  vitality,  and  in  part  upon  the  welfare  of  its 
members.  The  term  "  national  welfare,"  though  narrower 
in  meaning,  will  be  found  to  be  a  useful  synonym  for 
social  welfare. 

Human  and  Sentient  Welfare.  —  In  and  among  develop- 
ing nations,  another  tendency  may  be  noted,  a  tendency 
of  considerable  interest.  Owing  to  the  growth  of  reason- 
ableness and  humane  feeling,  and  of  ability  to  work  together 
harmoniously,  groups  grow  fewer  and  fewer,  larger  and 
larger,  and  more  and  more  interrelated.  The  dominant 
nations  of  the  world  are  now  the  largest  ever  seen,  are 
very  few  in  number,  and  show  each  other  a  mutual  con- 
sideration unknown  in  past  history.  The  first  two  facts 
are  familiar,  and  the  last  will  be  further  discussed  in  the 
chapter  on  benevolence.  As  will  there  appear,  at  first 
any  treatment  of  hostile  groups  and  their  members  was 
thought  fair.  But  as  groups  advanced  from  savagery  to 
barbarism,  ruthless  injury  of  other  groups  and  cruelty  to 
their  members  grew  less  common  and  less  severe.  And 
as  barbarism  changed  into  civilization,  the  rights  of  other 
groups  and  their  members  came  to  be  recognized;  first 
rights  to  immunity  from  injury  under  conditions  specified 
with  increasing  humanity  as  civilization  advanced,  later 


BIRTH  AND  GROWTH  OF  CONSCIENCE  IN  THE  RACE    183 

rights  to  aid  and  assistance  "  in  the  name  of  humanity." 
It  has  thus  come  to  pass,  that  while  each  of  the  more 
highly  civilized  nations  seeks  to  protect  and  advance  its 
own  interests  —  it  is,  of  course,  a  part  of  humanity,  and 
the  part  it  can  best  serve  —  its  public  conscience  restrains 
it  in  large  measure  from  injuring  other  nations,  and  indeed 
calls  upon  it,  at  least  in  times  of  great  need,  to  assist  other 
portions  of  humanity.  In  short,  cooperation,  through  the 
supervision  of  conscience,  for  the  welfare  of  the  group, 
becomes  cooperation  for  the  welfare  of  groups  increasing 
in  size,  and  is  tending  to  become  cooperation  for  the  wel- 
fare of  humanity,  indeed  of  the  whole  sentient  creation. 
This  has  been  the  course  of  development  in  the  past,  and 
there  is  every  reason  to  believe  that  it  will  continue  in 
the  future.  The  movement  may  be  very  slow,  or  it  may 
become  greatly  accelerated,  but  in  all  likelihood  it  will 
continue.  There  is  economy  in  the  substitution  of  peace- 
ful organization  for  hostile  rivalry,  and  that  alone  insures 
the  continued  movement,  were  it  not  insured  also  by  the 
growth  of  the  many  forces  that  make  for  the  increase  of 
humane  feeling.  If  it  cannot  be  said  that  conscience  as 
yet  serves  the  welfare  of  mankind,  or  the  welfare  of  all 
sentient  creatures,  that  it  serves  human  or  sentient  wel- 
&re,  it  can  be  said  that,  if  the  present  tendency  continues, 
human  and  eventually  sentient  welfare  will  come  to  be 
the  ultimate  end  that  inspires  all  moral  activity. 

§  6.  Summary 
Looking  for  the  origin  of  conscience,  and  having  reason 
to  think  that  it  grew  out  of  some  of  the  qualities  charac- 
teristic of  man  as  distinguished  from  other  animals,  an 
investigation  was  set  on  foot  with  a  view  to  discovering 
those  qualities.  The  result  of  this  investigation  was  the 
discovery  that  will-power  differences  man  from  other 
animals.  Looking  then  for  the  results  of  the  appearance 
of  volition,  it  was  seen  that  while  it  gave  rise  to  tliiuking. 


184  ETHICS 

tool-making,  and  religion,  all  in  the  main  helpful  activities, 
it  also  gave  birth  to  intelligent  egoism,  which  tended,  if 
unchecked,  to  destroy  man's  chief  resource  for  survival,  viz. 
the  associated  state.  But  here  it  appeared  that  conscience, 
public  and  private,  developed  out  of  social  instincts  and 
volition,  and  that,  putting  an  intelligent  check  on  in- 
telligent but  egoistic  volition,  it  preserved  the  human 
species  from  extinction.  Conscience,  however,  has  not 
always  been  wise  in  its  supervision  of  conduct ;  indeed,  in 
most  cases  its  supervision  has  been  such  as  to  prevent  the 
development  of  its  group,  and  therefore  its  own  develop- 
ment, either  from  the  beginning,  or  else  after  the  develop- 
ment had  proceeded  but  a  short  distance.  But  the  vitality 
of  a  few  favoured  groups  was  steadily  and  healthily  in- 
creased by  their  consciences,  and  these  groups  and  con- 
sciences have  developed  up  to  the  present  time,  and  seem 
still  to  be  developing.  On  further  investigation,  however, 
it  appeared  that  it  is  not  social  vitality  alone  that  con- 
science favours  in  these  fortunate  groups.  In  addition  to 
being  favoured  by  conscience  because  of  its  contribution  to 
cohesive  association,  and  therefore  to  vitality,  individual 
welfare  came  to  be  favoured  because  of  its  intrinsic  attrac- 
tiveness, and  because  of  its  reasonableness  as  an  end.  And 
it  thus  turns  out  that  the  combination  of  social  vitality 
and  individual  welfare,  i.e.  that  social  welfare  is  what  is 
ministered  to  with  increasing  efficiency  in  proportion  as 
conscience  is  progressive,  and  that,  of  the  two,  individual 
welfare  tends  to  be  more  solicitously  ministered  to  than 
social  vitality.  Finally,  in  view  of  the  increase  in  size, 
the  decrease  in  number,  and  the  closer  mutual  relations 
of  sovereign  states,  and  of  the  growth  of  solicitude  for 
animals,  the  tendency  is  for  human  and  even  for  sentient 
welfare  to  become  the  ultimate  end  of  moral  activity. 


PART   II 
OBJECTIVE  MORALITY 


CHAPTER  IX 

The  Constitution  and  Criteria  op  Objective 

Morality 

§  1.    Introduction 

The  main  task  of  Ethics,  it  will  be  remembered,  is  to 
discover  what  morality  and  immorality  really  are.  Start- 
ing with  the  hope  that  possibly  morality  might  consist  in 
following  conscience,  it  was  found  that  while  to  follow 
<5onscience  is  to  act  morally,  yet  such  moi-ality  is  generally 
imperfect  and  subjective,  because  consciences  hesitate, 
differ,  and  err ;  what  perfect  or  objective  morality  is,  no 
conscience  by  itself  can  tell.  At  the  same  time  it  appeared 
that  conscience  is  the  only  witness  as  to  the  nature  of 
morality,  and  accordingly  a  careful  study  of  the  nature 
of  conscience  was  undertaken,  with  a  view  to  discovering 
the  trustworthy  deliverances  of  conscience,  and  of  dis- 
tinguishing them  from  its  untrustworthy  deliverances. 

That  task  is  now  completed,  as  far  as  space  has  per- 
mitted. Subjective  morality  has  been  investigated,  and 
an  attempt  has  been  made  to  explain  the  nature  and  func- 
tion of  conscience  as  a  biological  phenomenon.  How  far 
the  undertaking  has  succeeded  the  reader  must  judge. 

The  task  of  Part  II  will  be  to  give  as  full  a  description 
as  possible  of  objective  morality.  In  this  chapter,  on  the 
basis  of  the  conclusions  reached,  the  supreme  or  ultimate 
end  will  be  described,  and  then  the  trustworthy  deliver- 
ances of  conscience  will  be  distinguished  from  its  untrust- 
worthy deliverances,  both  in  general  terms,  leaving  it  to 

187 


188  ETHICS 

subsequent  chapters   to   fill   in   the   outline   description* 
given. 

§  2.    The  Ultimate  Purpose  in  Moral  Action 

Towards  the  end  of  the  last  chapter  a  problem  was  con- 
sidered which  is  very  similar  to  the  one  now  to  be  dis- 
cussed. And  because  of  the  similarity  the  two  problems 
are  likely  to  be,  and  sometimes  are,  confused.  But  in  fact 
they  are  quite  distinct.  Then  the  question  was,  What  is 
it  that  developing  consciences  accomplish  in  their  coop- 
eration, and  tend  to  accomplish  with  increasing  effective- 
ness? and  the  answer  was  that  they  preserve  and  increase 
the  welfare  of  the  group,  which  approximates,  as  they 
develop,  to  human,  and  eventually  to  sentient,  welfare. 
But  now  the  question  is  not,  What  in  fact  does  conscience 
accomplish?  but.  What  is  the  end,  the  aim,  the  purpose 
of  conscience  ?  or,  if  there  are  many  ends.  What  is  the 
wisest,  most  comprehensive,  and  least  arbitrary  end  for 
consciences  to  adopt?  What  is  it  that  is  best  worth  the 
while  for  moral  men  to  undertake  to  achieve  by  their 
cooperation?  This  is,  stated  in  our  own  words,  the  prob- 
lem that  is  more  familiarly  known  as  that  of  the  summum 
bonum^  the  supreme  end,  or  the  good.  For  the  present  it 
will  be  discussed  in  very  general  terms,  in  order  that  the 
results  attained  in  the  last  chapter  may  be  used  while 
they  are  still  fresh  in  mind,  and  in  order  that  the  concep- 
tion to  be  reached  may  be  made  use  of  in  the  next  five 
chapters.  In  Chapter  XV  the  problem  will  be  taken  up 
again,  and  gone  into  as  fully  as  the  limits  of  the  present 
book  will  allow. 

Normative  Consciences.  —  The  first  fact  to  be  noted  is, 
that  until  a  considerable  development  was  attained  na 
consciences  accepted  a  single  end,  and  that  even  now 
only  a  few,  if  any  consciences,  accept  such  an  end  in  their 
ordinary  operations.  Most  consciences  have  many  aims, 
not  one.     These  aims,  as  has  fully  appeared,  are  largely 


THE  CONSTITUTION  OF  OBJECTIVE  MORALITY      189 

in  harmony  in  consciences  and  among  consciences,  and 
probably  are  growing  more  so,  but  of  this  harmony  their 
possessors  are  either  not  at  all  aware,  or  are  but  dimly 
aware. 

And  such  a  state  of  things  is  only  natural.  Conscience 
developed  out  of  a  number  of  social  instincts  unconscious 
of  their  function,  and  it  has  all  along  insisted  on  actions 
and  abstinences  each  for  its  own  sake,  and  because  of 
the  individual  appeal  each  has  made.  Savages  demand  a 
degree  of  truthfulness,  of  filial  obedience,  of  religious  cere- 
monial, and  of  other  forms  of  virtuous  conduct.  In  the 
same  disconnected  way  barbarians  demand  devotion  to 
family,  to  Church,  to  the  reigning  dynasty,  to  industrial 
forms  and  customs,  etc.  And  even  to-day  among  the 
highly  civilized  it  is  not  much  different.  We  demand 
honesty,  truthfulness,  courage,  temperance,  benevolence, 
etc.;  we  also  demand  devotion  to  family,  to  Church,  or 
at  least  to  religion,  and  to  State.  But  for  the  most  part 
we  are  not  conscious  that  all  these  are  indirect  demands 
(the  last  only  being  direct)  in  the  interest  of  national 
or  human  welfare.  When  a  man  supports  an  ungrateful 
family,  pays  his  debts,  or  makes  a  humiliating  confession 
in  the  interest  of  truth,  he  probably  has  little  thought  of 
the  general  good. 

And  this  situation,  it  may  be  pointed  out,  is  what 
constitutes  the  truth  of  dogmatic  intuitionism.*  Men  do 
approve  and  demand  certain  kinds  of  conduct,  like  honesty, 
etc.,  each  seeming  proper  in  itself.  And  probably  it  is  no 
great  stretch  of  language  to  use  that  word  of  many  mean- 
ings, and  say  that  they  do  so  intuitively.  At  any  rate, 
the  demand  does  seem  and  feel  objective,  because  of  the 
nature  of  conscience  and  because  all  civilized  men  support 
each  demand,  and  it  is  not  always  easy  to  give  satisfactory 
reasons  for  it. 

Teleological  Consciences.  —  But,  on  the  other  hand,  from 
1  Vide  Ch.  in,  §  1,  note. 


190  ETHICS 

the  time  when  morality  first  began  to  claim  attention,  men 
have  declared  that  there  is  some  one  thing  that  is  of 
supreme  worth,  and  they  have  tried  to  discover  what  this 
is.  The  more  thoughtful  observers  at  least  have  been 
convinced  that  conscientious  men  do  not  work  at  hap- 
hazard and  at  cross-purposes,  some  tearing  down  what 
others  build  up.  They  have  been  convinced  that  all  moral 
men  have,  in  the  last  analysis,  the  same  purpose,  or,  at  all 
events,  that  they  could  be  brought  to  agree  on  a  common 
purpose  to  be  cooperatively  achieved.  This  conviction  it 
is  that  has  given  birth  to  teleological  theories  of  con- 
science, which  in  part  attempt  merely  to  describe  what 
the  supreme  aim  of  conscience  in  fact  is,  and  in  part 
undertake  to  decide  what  is  the  wisest  and  most  reason- 
able supreme  end  for  conscientious  men  to  accept. 

Neglecting  for  the  present  the  distinction  of  the  last  sen- 
tence, these  theories  of  the  end  fall  roughly  into  two  classes, 
eudemonistic  theories  (from  evBaifiopia,  the  Greek  word 
for  welfare)  and  perfectionistic  theories,  the  former  main- 
taining that  the  purpose  of  moral  men,  as  such,  is  to 
achieve  welfare,  the  latter  that  their  purpose  is  to  achieve 
perfection.  Moreover,  from  the  time  of  Socrates  down- 
ward, there  has  been  no  time  when  either  theory  lacked 
representatives  to  urge  it.  Indeed,  not  alone  in  theory, 
but  in  practice  as  well,  there  have  always  been  eude- 
monists,  and  there  have  always  been  perfectionists.  This 
is  an  important  fact  to  note.  And  another  important  fact 
to  note  is,  that  the  greatest  moralists,  Socrates,  Plato,  and 
especially  Aristotle,  Kant,  and  Butler,  have  maintained 
that  the  good  is  complex,  being  a  combination  of  welfare 
and  perfection.^ 

These  facts  are  important  to  note  because  they  fall  in 
with  and  support  the  conclusions  reached  in  the  last  chap- 

*  Consider  also  Sidgwick's  division  of  theories  into  the  hedonistic,  a 
species  of  Eudemonism,  and  the  intuitional,  which  are  closely  allied  to 
Perfectionism.     Cf.  also  the  discussion  in  the  chapter  on  welfare. 


THE  CONSTITUTION  OF  OBJECTIVE  MORALITY      191 

ter,  that  individual  welfare  and  social  vitality  have  both 
been  fostered  by  developing  consciences.  For  the  con- 
clusion that  individual  welfare  is  fostered  by  conscience 
agrees  with  the  eudemonistic  theories,  the  conclusion  that 
social  vitality  is  fostered  substantially  agrees  with  the  per- 
fectionistic  theories,  and  the  conclusion  that  the  combi- 
nation of  both,  or  social  welfare,  is  fostered  substantially 
agrees  with  Aristotle,  Kant,  Butler,  and  Sidgwick.  These 
agreements  may  now  be  briefly  explained. 

To  be  sure,  the  last  chapter  concluded  merely  that  con- 
sciences in  fact  further  individual  welfare,  while  eudemon- 
istic theories  maintain  that  consciences,  above  all  things, 
teek  or  should  seek  to  further  it,  and  in  so  far  the  conclu- 
sion and  the  theories  do  not  agree.  They  mutually  support 
each  other  however,  for  eudemonistic  theory  would  hardly 
have  arisen  and  have  been  so  persistently  maintained  if 
consciences  had  not  in  fact  fostered  individual  welfare, 
while  the  fact  that  consciences  foster  it  would  of  itself 
have  all  but  compelled  such  a  theory,  as  soon  as  men  raised 
the  question  of  the  supreme  end.  Again,  at  first  eudemon- 
istic theories  maintained  that  the  end  of  each  moral  man 
was  his  own  welfare,  and  only  since  the  rise  of  Utilitarian- 
ism has  it  been  at  all  generally  believed  that  the  good  of 
all,  "  the  greatest  good  of  the  greatest  number,"  as  it  is 
usually  called,  is  the  supreme  end.  Still  it  is  natural  that 
the  fact  in  all  its  spread  should  not  be  grasped  at  once,  and 
it  is  significant  that  since  the  first  statement  of  Utilitarian- 
ism, it  has  been  speedily  and  all  but  universally  accepted. 

But  it  may  be  thought  that  there  is  little  in  common 
between  the  conclusion  reached  in  regard  to  vitality  and 
perfectionist  theories.  It  should  be  remembered,  however, 
that  perfection,  including,  as  it  does,  benevolence,  justice, 
truthfulness,  honesty,  etc.,  consists  largely,  if  not  entirely, 
of  perfection  in  social  serviceableness,  and  that,  if  all  men 
brought  their  powers  to  the  pitch  of  perfection,  the  vitality 
or  strength  of  mankind  would  be  at  its  maximum.  In  short. 


192  ETHICS 

it  should  be  remembered  that  social  vitality  in  large  part 
consists  in  a  large  development  of  individual  perfection. 
Vitality  and  perfection  are  not  identical,  but,  once  more, 
perfectionist  theories  would  not  have  arisen  if  consciences 
had  not  fostered  vitality,  and  were  bound  to  arise  in  view 
of  the  fact  that  consciences  have  fostered  vitality. 
.  Finally,  the  persistent  existence  of  both  theories  of  itself 
suggests  that  conscience  fosters  both  individual  welfare 
and  social  vitality,  i.e.  that  it  fosters  social  welfare ;  and 
the  conclusion  reached  in  the  last  chapter,  that  conscience 
fosters  social  welfare  supports,  as  far  as  such  evidence  can, 
the  view  of  the  greatest  moralists,  that  the  supreme  end  is 
complex,  and  includes  individual  welfare  and  social  vitality 
or  perfection  in  combination. 

And  now  it  is  time  to  raise  the  main  question.  What, 
if  anything,  do  all  consciences  accept  as  the  supreme  end  ? 
And  the  firat  part  of  the  answer  is,  that  they  accept  neither 
individual  welfare  without  social  vitality  or  perfection,  nor 
the  latter  without  the  former.  This  is  suggested  by  the 
conclusions  reached  in  the  last  chapter,  and  becomes  all 
but  unquestionable  in  view  of  the  persistent  existence  of 
eudemonistic  and  perfectionist  theories,  and  of  the  complex 
theories  of  the  end  advocated  by  the  greatest  moralists. 
The  end,  if  there  is  one  end,  is  complex. 

But  when,  following  this  suggestion,  it  is  asked.  Is  the 
general  welfare  then  the  end  that  is  in  fact  accepted  by  all 
consciences  ?  the  answer  must  be  in  the  negative.  As  con- 
sciences develop,  welfare  tends  to  be  fostered  with  increas- 
ing eflBciency,  but  all  developing  consciences  do  not  now 
accept  it  as  the  supreme  end,  and  it  may  be  that  the  time 
will  never  come  when  all  consciences  will  accept  it  as  such. 
So  much  has  been  partially  admitted  in  the  statement  that 
most  consciences  are  of  the  normative  rather  than  of  the 
teleological  type,  and  full  admission  will  be  made  if  the 
statement  is  applied  to  the  future  as  well  as  to  the  past 
and  present. 


THE  CONSTITUTION  OF  OBJECTIVE   MORALITY      193 

And  the  fact  that  the  general  welfare,  like  any  other  com- 
prehensive end,  can  best  be  served  if  it  is  indirectly  served, 
•does  not  entirely  explain  away  the  normative  character  of 
practically  all  consciences.  No  doubt,  as  pleasure  "to  be 
got  must  be  forgot,"  as  self-support  can  be  compassed  only 
if  attention  is  mainly  directed  to  self-supporting  action 
rather  than  to  the  end  itself,  and  as,  in  general,  ends  can 
best  be  attained  when  the  means  that  lead  to  them  are 
concentrated  upon,  each  at  its  appropriate  time,  so  sentient 
welfare  can  best  be  ministered  to  when  benevolent,  just, 
honest,  and  other  actions  that  make  for  it  are  each,  on 
tippropriate  occasions,  performed  for  their  own  sakes.  But 
while  this  fact  explains  very  well  the  possibility  of  cooper- 
>ation  to  foster  welfare  without  the  consciousness  thereof,  it 
does  not  explain  the  entire  ignorance  of  the  existence  of 
any  one  supreme  end  that  is  characteristic  of  all  unin- 
«tructed  consciences,  nor  does  it  explain  the  persistent  and 
unreconciled  difference  between  eudemonists,  perfection- 
ists, and  believers  in  a  complex  end,  differences  that  are 
much  greater  than  have  so  far  been  suggested,  for  under 
^ach  head  there  are  many  more  or  less  conflicting  theories. 
If  all  consciences  had  one  and  the  same  purpose  it  would 
not  be  very  difficult  to  bring  the  fact  to  consciousness,  nor 
would  differences  on  the  subject  be  so  interminable.  For 
a  purpose  or  end  is  emphatically  a  fact  of  consciousness. 
To  have  an  end  or  purpose  and  not  to  be  conscious  of  it,  is 
nothing  less  than  a  contradiction  in  terms.  And  when  all 
is  said,  it  must  therefore  be  admitted  that  consciences  are 
normative  and  not  teleological. 

The  Wisest  and  Most  lieasonahle  Ultimate  End.  —  But,  it 
will  be  remembered,  two  courses  are  open  in  discovering 
the  supreme  or  ultimate  end.  The  first  is  to  discover  what 
end  all  consciences  look  upon  as  ultimate.  An  attempt 
was  made  to  follow  that  course,  but  it  has  just  resulted  in 
failure,  because  it  was  found  that  there  is  no  one  ultimate 
«nd  that  all  consciences  accept.     The  second  course  is  to 


IM  ETHICS 

discover  what  end  is  the  wisest  and  most  reasonable  for 
all  consciences  to  agree  upon,  and  to  cooperate  in  attempt- 
ing to  further.  Trial  will  now  be  made  of  that  second 
course. 

And  first  observe  that  the  teleologists  were  probably 
right  in  holding  that  there  is  some  object  of  supreme  worth 
for  mankind,  if  fortunately  it  can  be  found,  and  that  they 
are  certainly  right  in  maintaining  that  the  problem  must 
be  faced  and  decided,  for  the  reason  that  it  cannot  be 
shirked,  especially  in  view  of  the  conclusion  reached  in  the 
last  chapter.  According  to  that  conclusion,  consciences 
do  in  fact  minister  to  the  general  welfare,  and  moreover 
tend  to  concentrate  their  energies  more  and  more  on  that 
ministration.  The  sum  of  what  consciences  accomplish 
is  to  minister  to  the  welfare  of  all  sentient  beings,  and, 
unless  the  course  of  things  is  interfered  with,  this  minis- 
tration to  sentient  welfare  will  increase  rather  than  dimin- 
ish. It  is  not  possible  longer  to  continue  groping  in  the 
dark.  The  veil  has  been  lifted,  conscientious  men  know 
what  they  are  doing,  and  they  must  decide  whether  it  is 
well  to  continue  along  this  course,  or  better  to  substitute 
some  other  procedure.  Is  sentient  welfare  the  most  rea- 
sonable end  ?  And  if  not,  what  more  reasonable  end  is  to 
be  substituted  for  it  ?  These  are  the  questions  that  must 
be  answered,  if  morality  is  to  be  more  than  a  drifting  we 
care  not  whither.  If  welfare  is  the  most  reasonable  end, 
all  moral  men  are  called  upon  to  further  it  as  wisely  as  they 
can.  If  it  is  not,  they  are  called  upon  to  discover  and  to 
further  the  end  accepted  in  its  place.  Those  who  have  no 
substitute  for  welfare,  will  inevitably  continue  to  serve  that 
end.  Those  who  have  a  substitute  must  be  prepared  to 
prove  that  it  is  a  wiser  end. 

In  order  to  avoid  confusion,  the  grounds  upon  which 
most  evolutionists  would  urge  the  acceptance  of  welfare 
as  the  ultimate  end,  provided  they  thought  that  consciences 
further  it,  and  tend  to  further  it  with  increasing  efficiency. 


THE   CONSTITUTION  OF  OBJECTIVE   MORALITY       195 

had  better  be  explicitly  stated.  They  would  accept  it, 
namely,  because,  as  they  argue,  welfare  is  the  goal  towards 
which  evolution  is  working,  because,  as  they  would  hold, 
natural  forces  are  evolving  a  race  whose  consciences  will 
effectively  serve  sentient  welfare,  and  as  consciences  of 
this  type  are  to  be  the  final  achievement  of  evolution  in 
this  field,  therefore  this  type  of  conscience  is  the  highest 
and  the  most  authoritative.  This  argument  of  many  evo- 
lutionists is  explicitly  stated  in  order  that  it  may  be  as 
explicitly  rejected.  It  is  an  illogical  attempt  to  argue 
from  the  "  is  "  to  the  "  ought  to  be,"  a  fallacy  so  obvious 
that  explicit  statement  suffices  to  disclose  it.  Or  if  the 
fallacy  is  healed  by  supplying  a  suppressed  premise,  this 
premise  is  readily  seen  to  be  untrue,  for  it  is  to  the  effect 
that  the  last  stage  of  an  evolution  is  morally  superior  to 
the  first,  and  to  any  stage  prior  to  the  last.  As  against 
this  premise  the  evidence  is  ample.  Individual  consciences 
are  not  always  best  at  the  time  of  their  possessors'  death. 
National  consciences  are  not  likely  to  be  best  when  their 
nations  go  down  in  dissolution.  And  again,  the  con- 
sciences of  any  present-day  savage  tribe  or  barbarous 
nation  have  as  much  right  to  be  called  the  flower  of  evo- 
lution, when  evolution  is  regarded  merely  as  a  natural 
process,  as  have  the  consciences  of  the  most  civilized 
nations.  The  last,  as  such,  is  neither  more  nor  less  authori- 
tative than  any  other  stage  of  natural  evolution  ;  position 
in  time  has  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  authoritativeness. 

Sentient  Welfare.  —  But  there  are  two  valid  and  suffi- 
cient reasons  for  regarding  the  welfare  of  all  sentient  beings 
as  the  most  reasonable  end  for  moral  agents,  and  these 
may  now  be  suggested  in  turn. 

In  the  first  place,  the  fact  that  objective  morality  is  under 
discussion  fixes  the  ultimate  end.  For  to  speak  of  objec- 
tive morality  is  to  speak  of  a  system  of  conduct  that  is 
to  be  imposed,  as  far  as  possible,  upon  all  beings  capable 
of  conduct.     Accordingly  the  system  of  conduct  contem- 


196  ETHICS 

plated  is  to  be  obligatory  upon  all  mankind,  and,  allowing- 
that  modifications  will  be  allowed  in  the  case  of  animals, 
they  will  be  made  to  do  their  share,  and  will  of  course  be 
given  their  share  in  return.  In  a  word,  objective  morality  con- 
templates a  vast  cooperative  enterprise,  by  means  of  which 
all  who  are  capable  of  cooperation  are  to  employ  their 
energies  for  some  common  end  —  the  end  must  be  a  com- 
mon end,  or  else  there  would  be  no  cooperation.  At  first 
individuals  cooperated  within  their  respective  groups,  but 
these  groups  have  grown  in  size  and  become  interrelated, 
and  now  all  men  and  animals,  in  so  far  as  they  are  moral 
or  at  least  fall  in  with  moral  plans,  cooperate  together  for 
some  plan.  And,  as  soon  as  this  is  seen  to  be  the  nature 
of  objective  morality,  it  at  once  becomes  evident  that  the 
common  interest  or  well-being  of  all  without  exception 
must  be  the  end.  No  reason  can  be  given  for  considering 
the  interest  of  any  beings  besides  those  who  take  part  in 
the  cooperative  undertaking,  though  reasons  can  be  given 
for  treating  other  beings  properly .^  And  it  would  be 
equally  arbitrary  to  disregard  the  interests  of  any  beings, 
whether  animals  or  men,  who  made  common  cause  with 
moral  beings.  No  reasons  whatever  can  be  given  for 
serving  the  interests  of  either  more  or  less  than  the  entire 
membership  of  the  moral  universe,  and  fully  sufficient 
reasons  can  be  given  for  serving  the  interests  of  the  entire 
membership.^ 

And  again,  service,  furtherance,  purpose,  even  end,  are 
words  whose  meaning  is  coterminous  with  sentiency.  Ser- 
vice means,  and  only  can  mean,  service   to  sentient   or 

'  1  Microbes,  wild  beasts,  criminals,  may  be  conceived  of  in  some  cases 
as  beings  who  take  no  part  in  the  cooperative  enterprise.  It  may  also  be 
suggested,  that  if  it  should  be  found,  with  the  growth  of  knowledge,  that 
departed  spirits,  angels,  or  any  other  beings,  at  present  more  or  less 
hypothetical,  are  cooperating  with  mankind,  and  further  that  it  is  possi- 
ble for  mankind  to  cooperate  with  them,  morality  would  stretch  to  include 
those  beings. 

'  At  least  all  whose  interests  can  be  served  with  any  intelligence. 


THE   CONSTITUTION  OF  OBJECTIVE  MORALITY      197 

conscious  beings.  The  only  interests  that  can  be  furthered 
are  the  interests  of  sentient  or  conscious  beings ;  no  other 
interests  exist  or  are  conceivable  by  us.  Purpose  and  end 
have  no  intelligible  meaning  except  to  designate  something 
that  can  be  experienced,  or  at  least  conceived,  by  some 
conscious  being.  Thus  the  only  possible  end  is  some  kind 
of  experience,  which  may  be  either  perceptual  or  concep- 
ual,  for  some  conscious  being  or  beings.  And,  in  view  of 
the  fact  that  there  is  every  reason  for  considering  the 
interests  of  all  sentient  beings,  and  no  reason  for  consider- 
ing more  or  less  than  all,  sentient  welfare  would  seem  to 
be  the  most  reasonable  ultimate  end.^ 

§  3.  The  Criteria  of  Objective  Morality 
Of  course  the  leading  criterion  of  objective  morality 
is  the  ultimate  end,  sentient  welfare.  Whatever  conduct 
at  any  time  best  furthers  that  end  is  objectively  moral,  and 
whatever  conduct  falls  short  of  thus  serving  the  end  fails 
of  perfect  morality.  But,  in  addition  to  knowing  the  end, 
it  is  desirable  to  know  something  of  the  kind  of  conduct 
that  best  serves  it  and   is  therefore    objectively   moral. 

1  Though  not,  strictly  speaking,  a  logically  sufficient  reason  for  con- 
sidering sentient  welfare  the  ultimate  end,  it  is  worth  mentioning,  that, 
as  service  of  sentient  welfare  has  grown,  wisdom  has  grown,  and  as  wis- 
dom has  grown,  service  of  sentient  welfare  has  grown,  and  consciences 
have,  and,  as  far  as  can  be  prophesied,  will  in  the  future,  come  to  accept 
sentient  welfare  as  the  ultimate  end  with  increasing  consciousness  and 
conviction.  Plainly  the  races  that  have  developed  furthest,  and  tliat  are 
possessed,  among  other  things,  of  the  greatest  intelligence  and  learning 
and  of  the  soundest  practical  judgment,  are  the  races  that  have  served 
sentient  welfare  most  efficiently,  and  have  come  nearest  to  accepting  it 
consciously  as  the  ultimate  end.  It  may  be  said  then  that  tlie  wisest 
human  judgment  so  far  evolved  has  come  nearest  to  accepting  sentient 
welfare  as  the  ultimate  end.  And  it  may  be  inferred  that  the  wiser 
judgment  of  the  future  will  fully  accept  it  as  the  end  ;  in  any  event,  if 
sentient  welfare  comes  to  be  rejected  and  neglected  by  the  most  advanced 
nations,  they  will  begin  to  deteriorate,  in  wisdom  as  in  other  qualities, 
and  their  judgment  will  become  less  authoritative.  But  speculations  of 
this  kind  are  rather  precarious,  and  are  chiefly  of  curious  interest. 


198  ETHICS 

Whatever  can  be  done  in  that  direction  will  be  a  further 
accomplishment  in  the  way  of  defining  and  describing 
morality. 

First  taking  up  the  problem  in  general,  it  will  be  evident 
that  no  conscience  is  infallible.  All  have  made  blunders 
in  the  past,  all  make  many  to-day,  and  no  doubt  all  will 
continue  to  do  so,  though  it  is  to  be  hoped  they  will  do 
so  in  diminishing  numbers  and  importance.  But  though 
supremely  resourceful  and  helpful  up  to  now,  the  present 
moment  may  witness  the  growth  in  any  conscience  of  ten- 
dencies that  will  seriously  diminish  its  service  to  sentient 
welfare. 

Serviceable  Consciences. — At  the  same  time  a  conscience 
is  trustworthy  in  proportion  to  the  services  it  has  rendered. 
Provided  there  are  no  signs  of  incipient  decay,  the  con- 
sciences of  the  races  that  are  stanchest,  most  resourceful, 
and  strongest  are  the  most  trustworthy  consciences  that 
exist  in  the  world.  On  the  whole,  no  other  human  con- 
sciences, and  observation  is  of  course  limited  to  human 
consciences,  give  such  trustworthy  indications  of  the  ac- 
tions to  be  demanded,  forbidden,  and  permitted,  and  in 
attempting  to  find  the  criteria  desired,  these  are  the  con- 
sciences that  will  repay  the  largest  amount  of  study. 
What  has  to  be  discovered  is  what  parts  of  these  con- 
sciences are  reliable  and  what  parts  are  relatively  unreli- 
able. 

Trustworthy  and  Untrustworthy  Elements  of  Conscience. — 
The  type  of  conscience  present  in  successful  races  is  made 
up  of  three  parts.  There  is  the  instinct-custom  element, 
a  complex  of  two  parts,  and  the  insight  or  ideal  element. 
There  are  therefore  present  in  civilized  consciences  of 
to-day  certain  demands  that  have  come  down  in  the  form 
of  physically  inherited  instincts  from  our  animal  ancestry 
(though  of  course  among  men  the  demands  are  self-con- 
sciously, and  not  merely  instinctively,  made),  other  demands 
that  have  grown  up  among  men  to  meet  various  practical 


THE  CONSTITUTION  OF  OBJECTIVE   MORALITY      199 

exigencies,  and  that  are  now  hardened,  to  a  greater  or  less 
extent,  into  tradition  and  racial  usage,  and  finally  de- 
mands, varying  from  individual  to  individual,  from  class 
to  cliiss,  and  from  community  to  community,  embodying 
private  and  unauthoritative  opinions,  called  forth  by  con- 
crete situations.  There  are  no  sharp  lines  of  demarkation 
separating  off  the  three  classes  of  demands  from  one 
another,  for,  as  will  appear  more  fully  later,  customs  are 
further  specifications  of  instinctive  demands,  and  insights 
the  applications  of  both  combined  to  concrete  situations. 
The  first  block  in  the  picture,  the  second  add  the  salient 
lines,  the  last  fill  in  the  details. 

Now  the  three  classes  of  demands  are  trustworthy  in  the 
order  of  their  mention  ;  for  it  is  in  that  order  that  they 
have  been  tested  by  their  service  to  vitality  and  by  critical 
human  experience  and  judgment.  Noteworthy  among  men 
as  compared  with  animals  is  the  small  number  of  instincts 
present  in  the  former.  Man  is  born  into  the  world  singu- 
larly free  from  prepossessions  as  to  the  details  of  action ; 
therein  lies  his  unequalled  capacity  to  receive  instruction. 
Most  of  the  original  animal  instincts  have  disappeared 
since  man  became  man,  and  have  disappeared  either  owing 
to  their  inability  to  maintain  themselves  against  man's 
continuous  struggle  to  escape  from  restrictions,  or  owing 
to  the  inability  to  survive  of  the  groups  in  which  physio- 
logical variation  did  not  eradicate  them.  In  either  case, 
whether  the  disappearance  of  the  majority  of  animal  in- 
stincts was  due  to  the  inheritance  of  acquired  opposition 
to  them,  or  whether  it  was  due  to  adverse  natural  selec- 
tion, the  disappearance  of  so  many  of  them  indicates  the 
fierce  struggle  in  which  all  have  been  constantly  engaged. 
Moreover  it  indicates  the  exceptional  vitality,  the  excep- 
tional contribution  to  the  strength  and  satisfaction  of  their 
possessors,  of  the  supervisory  social  instincts  that  have 
survived  through  all  the  countless  changes  in  human  capa- 
bilities and  in  external  conditions  that  have  attended  the 


200  ETHICS 

progress  from  lowest  savagery  to  highest  civilization^ 
Demands  that  have  been  unremittingly  reiterated  under 
circumstances  and  by  men  so  infinitely  various  and  so  con- 
tinuously increasing  in  prosperity  cannot  but  be  for  actions 
that  are,  so  far  as  can  be  seen,  permanently  and  immutably 
promotive  of  sentient  welfare.  It  is  not  easy  to  conceive 
of  stronger  evidence  for  the  secure  morality  of  a  type  of 
action  than  its  continuous  furtherance  of  the  supreme  ideal 
throughout  the  course  of  human  experience. 

The  trustworthiness  of  customary  and  traditional  de- 
mands is  very  various,  but  in  some  cases  is  as  great  as 
that  of  the  instinctive  demands.  It  may  be  ascertained  by 
applying  similar  tests.  In  general  the  trustworthiness  of 
these  demands  depends  upon  four  conditions :  (1)  The^ 
prosperity  of  the  races  by  whom  the  demands  are  made ; 
(2)  the  number  of  prosperous  nations  differently  circum- 
stanced by  whom  they  are  made ;  (3)  the  length  of  time 
during  which  and  consequently  the  variety  of  circum- 
stances under  which  they  have  been  made ;  and  (4)  the 
continued  essential  invariability  of  the  conditions  sur- 
rounding the  actions  demanded.  When  all  four  tests  are 
satisfactorily  met,  a  merely  traditional  demand  has  all 
the  authority  of  the  demands  that  were  originally  instinc- 
tive. 

Regarding  the  demands  due  to  insight,  little  need  be 
said.  That  they  are  indispensable  is  known  from  the  fact 
that  welfare  is  furthered  only  by  consciences  that  have 
both  the  instinct-custom  and  the  insight  elements.  That 
they  are  indescribable  is  evident  from  their  variability  and 
variety,  and  in  general  from  the  accounts  that  have  been 
given  of  them  in  several  places.  And  as  to  their  reliability, 
that  will  be  as  fully  discussed  as  possible  in  the  chapter  on 
wisdom,  and  all  that  need  be  said  now  is,  that  it  depends 
mainly  on  the  honesty,  good  sense,  and  experience  of  those 
in  whom  any  moral  insight  appears. 


THE  CONSTITUTION  OF  OBJECTIVE  MORALITY      201 

§  4.     The  Cardinal  Virtues 

In  using  the  criteria  laid  down  in  the  last  section,  no 
attempt  will  be  made  to  distinguish  between  trustworthy 
instinctive  and  trustworthy  traditional  elements  of  con- 
science. It  would  be  very  difficult  to  do  so,  inasmuch  as 
the  latter  are  not  distinct  and  separate  from  the  former, 
but  are  merely  specifications  of  them,  and  it  is  not  neces- 
sary, inasmuch  as  traditional  demands  of  long  standing 
that  exist  in  races  enjoying  the  greatest  welfare  are  as 
trustworthy  as  instinctive  demands.  Those  demands  of 
conscience  will  be  considered  trustworthy  that  are  insisted 
on  by  the  leading  peoples,  and  that  have  been  insisted  on 
by  their  ancestors  and  by  their  moral  teachers  among 
other  peoples  as  far  back  into  the  past  as  investigation  will 
carry  us.  This  test  will  satisfy  the  four  requirements 
mentioned  above. 

There  are  a  number  of  sources  from  which  accounts  of 
the  trustworthy  components  of  conscience,  as  thus  defined, 
could  be  derived,  but  an  account  is  furnished  by  the 
doctrine  of  the  cardinal  virtues  in  a  form  which  is  at  once 
the  most  reliable,  the  most  convenient,  the  most  adequate, 
and  the  most  compact,  and  that  is  the  account  that  will  be 
followed  here.  When  each  of  the  cardinal  virtues  comes 
to  be  examined  in  a  chapter  by  itself,  it  will  appear  that 
in  some  form  each  has  always  been  accepted  by  man,  and 
besides  something  will  be  said  presently  of  the  reliability 
of  the  account  given  by  the  doctrine  mentioned,  and  some- 
thing of  the  adequacy  and  compactness  of  the  account. 
As  to  its  convenience,  it  need  only  be  said  that  a  virtue 
is  a  quality  of  character  that  insures  the  performance  of 
objectively  moral  conduct ;  and  that  an  account  of  moral- 
ity in  terms  of  character  is  much  more  fundamental  and 
thorough  than  an  account  in  terms  of  conduct.  Character 
is  the  source  from  which  voluntary  actions  spring,  and 
while  imperfect  character  may  on  occasion  produce  objec- 


202  ETHICS 

tively  moral  conduct,  only  perfectly  moral  character  can 
be  relied  on  for  doing  so.  The  doctrine  of  the  cardinal 
virtue  undertakes  to  give  a  full  account  of  the  perfectly 
moral  character,  and  no  better  foundation  could  be  found 
on  which  to  build  a  theory  of  objective  morality. 

For  the  present  introductory  purposes  the  reliability  of 
the  doctrine  will  be  sufficiently  suggested  by  indicating 
the  mention  the  cardinal  virtues  have  received  in  ethical 
theory.  Their  first  emphatic  appearance  is  in  Plato's 
Republic^  where  they  are  given  under  titles  that  are  gen- 
erally translated  into  Courage,  Temperance,  Justice,  and 
Wisdom.  Of  course  the  virtues  were  not  invented  by 
Plato,  but  were  discovered  by  him  in  popular  thought 
among  many  others.  But  it  was  his  rare  insight,  that 
further  investigation  will  lead  us  to  appreciate  increas- 
ingly, that  singled  them  out  for  discussion  as  constituting 
the  central  core  of  morality.  Since  Plato's  day  his  theory 
has  been  currently  known,  or  at  least  the  virtues  mentioned 
have  separately  been  more  or  less  emphatically  held  up  as 
cardinal,  and  thus  they  have  been  submitted  to  continual 
tests,  both  by  popular  opinion  and  by  ethical  theorists. 
And  the  result  has  been  that,  although  they  have  been 
much  discussed,  and  although  other  virtues  have  been 
suggested  from  time  to  time  as  entitled  to  a  place  along- 
side of  them,  no  serious  proposal  has  been  made  to  degrade 
them  from  the  high  rank  given  them  by  Plato,  and  to-day 
they  still  are  accepted  by  all  to  whose  notice  they  come 
as  descriptive  of  the  fundamentals  of  moral  character. 
The  types  of  action  to  which  they  prompt  are  held  to  be 
intuitively  known  as  right  by  dogmatic  intuitionists,  and 
approval  of  these  actions  are  among  the  "  middle  axioms  '* 
80  universally  declared  to  be  accepted  by  human  concensus. 

It  will  not  be  necessary  here  to  consider  all  the  other 
virtues  suggested  as  cardinal  at  different  times,  but,  in 
view  of  reasons  to  be  mentioned  in  part  now  and  in  part 
later,   a  word   is   in  place   regarding  benevolence.     The 


THE  CONSTITUTION  OF  OBJECTIVE  MORALITY      203 

closely  allied  virtue  of  beneficence  has  of  course  always 
been  approved,  and  has  escaped  mention  only  because 
''  doing  good  "  is  but  another  name  for  morality  in  its  en- 
tirety. All  authorities  insist  on  the  morality  of  benefi- 
cence. But  benevolence  also  early  received  mention. 
To  be  sure,  among  ethical  writers  it  was  first  prominently 
mentioned,  as  far  as  I  am  aware,  by  Thomas  Aquinas  in 
the  thirteenth  century,  there  taking  the  form  of  love,  and 
being  placed  with  the  other  two  of  the  Pauline  triad, 
faith  and  hope,  above  Plato's  list,  and  regarded  as  super- 
visory of  it.  But,  as  the  mention  of  Paul  suggests,  be- 
nevolence was  recognized  long  before  Aquinas.  Indeed, 
in  addition  to  being  recognized  by  Paul,  it  was  recognized 
by  Christ,  by  Buddha,  and  by  Confucius,  as  well  as  by 
Mohammed,  and  may  accordingly  be  described  as  the 
distinctive  contribution  of  monotheism  to  the  solution  of 
moral  problems.  More  primitive  opinion  was  well  aware 
that  in  the  moral  man  the  will  is  strong  for  courage  and 
temperance,  and  the  insight  of  intellect  just  and  wise. 
But  monotheistic  religions  first  taught,  both  in  impressive 
examples,  and  in  the  lives  and  precepts  of  devoted  fol- 
lowers, that  true  morality  is  also,  and  it  may  be  princi- 
pally, a  matter  of  the  heart  and  feelings.  However  full, 
clear,  and  keen  the  insight,  and  however  strong  the  will, 
there  is  no  security  that  they  can  compass  moral  action, 
unless  strong  emotion  is  their  ally ;  and  even  where  they 
alone  do  compass  it,  the  actions  lack  the  finish  and  accept- 
ableness  that  genuine  feeling  alone  can  impart.  As  Paul 
says,  "Love  is  the  fulfilment  of  law."  Like  the  other 
cardinal  virtues,  benevolence  has  been  variously  inter- 
preted at  different  times  and  in  different  places,  for  in- 
stance, being  identified  with  charity  by  early  monotheism 
everywhere,  and  only  later  being  given  broader  interpre- 
tations. But  it  will  be  time  to  consider  its  history  when 
this  virtue  is  taken  up  for  special  study.  For  the  present 
it  is  sufficient  to  say  that  civilized  peoples  have  always 


204  ETHICS 

ranked  it  among  the  fundamental  virtues.^  The  cardinal 
virtues  that  will  be  discussed  are  accordingly  courage, 
temperance,  benevolence,  justice,  and  wisdom. 

And  finally,  it  may  be  pointed  out  that  this  list  is  at 
once  adequate  and  compact,  covering  the  whole  field  of 
morality,  but  covering  no  portion  of  the  field  twice.  If 
all  these  virtues  were  present  in  any  man,  his  actions 
would  be  sure  to  be  objectively  moral,  while  where  any  is 
absent  or  present  in  imperfect  form,  he  is  prevented  from 
acting  with  perfect  morality.  For,  in  order  to  constitute 
objective  morality,  the  will  must  have  control  over  the 
aversions,  and  this  is  courage;  and  over  the  inclinations, 
which  is  temperance;  the  feelings  and  inclinations  must 
make  for  objective  morality,  i.e.  they  must  be  benevolent ; 
and  the  intellect  must  know  what  objectively  moral  con- 
duct is,  i.e.  it  must  be  just  and  wise. 

But  why,  it  may  be  asked,  if  the  inclinations  are  virtu- 
ous, need  the  will  be  virtuous  too  ?  And  if  the  intellect 
is  just,  why  need  it  also  be  wise?  To  the  first  question 
the  answer  is,  that  the  feelings  are  not  sufficiently  flexible 
fully  to  support  objective  morality.  A  man  who  lived  in 
one  torpid  community  might  conceivably  be  adequately 
guided  by  his  feelings  alone.  He  might  learn  to  adjust 
himself  to  the  conditions  of  that  community,  and  once 
adjusted  he  would  be  always  adjusted.  But  usually  men 
move  about,  and,  in  any  event,  conditions  change.  And 
though  a  man  might  adjust  himself  to  one  set  of  condi- 
tions, he  would  soon  find  himself  out  of  adjustment  again. 
Besides,  to  be  moral  is  not  to  be  stationary,  and  modes 
of  conduct  must  change.  But  the  feelings  change  very 
slowly,  and  when  they  do  so  it  is  because  they  are  con- 
trolled by  the  will,  which  is  guided  by  the  more  teach- 

^  It  ia  interesting  to  note  that  faith  and  hope,  especially  the  latter,  have 
not  continued  to  hold  their  places  alongside  of  love  or  benevolence.  Im- 
portant as  they  are,  they  are  too  likely  to  appear  in  exaggerated  forms, 
and  besides  their  essence  is  already  present  in  courage  and  love. 


THE  CONSTITUTION   OF   OBJECTIVE   MORALITY      205 

able  and  discriminating  ideas.  In  a  word,  as  has  already- 
appeared,  morality  is  partly  a  matter  of  fixed  custom, 
and  partly  a  matter  of  keen  and  wide-awake  insight,  and 
while  the  feelings  may  be  adjusted  to  the  former,  only 
when  controlled  by  will  can  they  be  kept  in  adjustment 
with  the  latter. 

And  the  same  principle  explains  the  need  for  both 
justice  and  wisdom.  Justice  is  that  portion  of  morality 
that  consists  of  customs  and  usages  that  can  be  embodied 
in  a  code  of  laws,  and  the  just  man  is  the  man  who  knows 
and  lives  up  to  this  code.  But  these  laws  must  be  applied 
to  concrete  situations  as  they  arise,  and  they  must  be  both 
improved  and  altered  into  adjustment  to  changed  condi- 
tions ;  and  the  wise  man  knows  how  to  apply,  improve, 
and  alter  the  code  of  justice.  Again,  by  improving  laws 
and  altering  them  into  adjustment,  we  mean  changing 
them  with  a  view  to  increasing  the  service  of  conduct  to 
sentient  welfare.  So  the  wise  man  must  know  what 
sentient  welfare,  the  supreme  end,  is,  and  must  improve 
that  knowledge  as  opportunities  offer.  All  this  will  be 
plainer  after  the  cardinal  virtues  have  been  discussed 
separately. 


CHAPTER  X 

Courage 

§  1.    Three  Conceptions  of  Courage 

As  was  suggested  in  the  last  chapter,  courage  as  a  virtue 
is  a  habit  of  will.  It  is  such  an  association  of  present 
suffering  or  apprehended  danger  with  the  fact  and  feeling 
of  effort,  as  insures  the  calling  forth  by  the  former  of  the 
latter,  and  the  latter's  support  of  actions  that  firmly  face 
the  situation.  In  this  sense  courage  may  be  defined  as  the 
habit  of  will  that  makes  for  the  doing  of  what  is  to  be  doney 
in  spite  of  discomfort^  disinclination^  and  pain^  present  and 
prospective.  The  last  phrase  suggests  the  difference  be- 
tween courage  of  endurance,  or  fortitude,  which  consists 
in  the  determined  following  of  purpose  without  regard 
to  suffering,  and  the  more  generally  recognized  daring 
courage  that  risks  the  bringing  down  on  its  agent  of  the 
undesirable  results  anticipated  from  the  action.  As  the 
definition  suggests,  the  main  difiiculty  in  giving  a  satis- 
factory account  of  courage  arises  from  the  difficulty  of 
stating  "  what  is  to  be  done."  But  another  difficulty,  felt 
by  many,  is  that  of  determining  which  of  the  several 
qualities  of  character  that  contribute  to  insure  the  per- 
formance of  difficult  actions  is  properly  to  be  denominated 
courage. 

At  the  other  extreme  from  the  conception  of  courage 
set  forth  in  the  above  definition  is  the  popular  conception, 
as  it  may  be  called.  According  to  the  latter,  bravery  is 
shown  in  any  action,  though  especially  in  the  steady  en- 

206 


COURAGE  207 

durance  of  suffering  or  facing  of  physical  danger,  that  it 
would  be  difficult  for  the  ordinary  man  to  perform,  and 
a  man  is  brave  if  he  has  any  qualities  of  character  that 
enable  him  to  perform  actions  difficult  for  others.  Inas- 
much as  liability  to  fear  diminishes  the  chances  of  firmly 
facing  danger,  popular  opinion  considers  courageous  the 
fearless  man.  And  inasmuch  as  the  fervent  devotion  of  a 
mother  and  of  a  patriot  enable  them  to  do  deeds  that  others 
would  shrink  from,  such  deeds  too  are  regarded  as  brave. 
Though  with  some  hesitation,  it  is  possible  that  popular 
opinion  would  consider  brave  the  men  whose  slight  powers 
of  imagination  render  them  incapable  of  appreciating  the 
dangei-s  they  risk,  or  even  the  men  whose  insensitiveness 
spares  them  pain  which  others  would  feel.  And  though 
no  doubt  men  generally  would  recognize  the  courage  of 
Henry  of  Navarre,  who  by  force  of  will  gallantly  led  his 
first  charge,  in  spite  of  the  trembling  of  every  limb  and 
the  strongest  inclinations  to  turn  in  flight,  it  is  not  certain 
that  they  would  regard  him  as  more  courageous  than  the 
stolid  campaigners  of  his  army  who  knew  no  fear.  Briefly, 
according  to  popular  opinion  a  man  is  brave  who  has  any 
qualities,  whether  of  feeling  (e.g.  fearlessness),  of  intellect, 
or  even  (less  emphatically)  of  will,  that  insure  his  facing 
what  would  be  suffering  and  danger  to  the  ordinary  man. 
A  conception  midway  between  the  popular  conception 
and  that  of  the  definition  insists  that  there  is  courage  only 
in  so  far  as  suffering  is  experienced  or  danger  is  appre- 
ciated. According  to  this  conception  the  popular  view  is 
wrong  in  regarding  an  action  as  courageous  merely  because 
it  would  be  difficult  for  the  average  man  to  perform. 
There  is  no  courage  unless  suffering  or  fear  is  genuinely 
experienced  and  endured  or  controlled  by  the  agent  him- 
self. The  bravery  of  the  stolid  countryman  who  is  quiet 
and  calm  because  he  experiences  no  pain  can  be  compared 
to  that  of  the  chloroformed  patient ;  and  the  bravery  of 
the   man   mentioned   above,   with   too  little   imagination 


208  ETHICS 

to  realize  danger,  to  that  of  the  locomotive  that  dashes 
through  an  open  switch.  A  courageous  action,  as  the 
upholdera  of  the  medium  view  maintain,  is  an  action  that 
is  difficult  not  merely  to  the  average  man  but  to  the  agent 
in  each  case.  Again,  the  medium  view  differs  from  that 
formulated  in  the  definition  in  that  it  conceives  courage 
to  be  present  when  any  quality  of  character  leads  the  agent 
to  face  suffering  or  danger  with  a  j&rm  front.  For  instance, 
according  to  the  medium  view,  bravery  is  shown,  both  by 
the  soldier  who  faces  death  from  devotion  to  his  general 
and  enthusiasm  for  the  cause,  and  by  the  soldier  who  does 
so  from  grim  determination,  though  suspecting  the  compe- 
tence of  his  general  and  the  justice  of  his  cause.  But 
according  to  the  definition,  while  the  former  undoubtedly 
manifests  virtuous  feeling  (benevolence  in  the  terminology 
here  used),  only  the  latter  manifests  courage  or  virtue  of 
will. 

This  is  not  the  place  to  decide  which  of  the  three  concep- 
tions of  courage  is  correct.  As  the  discussion  proceeds  it 
will  appear  that  the  definition  formulates  the  most  practical 
and  convenient  conception  of  courage  as  a  virtue.  But  mean- 
time it  will  be  best  to  begin  with  the  popular  conception, 
and  to  sketch  in  outline  the  changes  that  have  gradually 
refined  and  clarified  it.  This  procedure  will  serve  as  a 
helpful  introduction  to  the  present-day  notion  of  the 
nature  of  the  virtue  of  courage. 

§  2.     Sketch  of  the  Development  of  Courage  and  of  its 
Conception 

Phyncal  Courage.  —  There  is  a  great  deal  to  show  that 
animals  are  courageous  in  the  popular  sense  of  the  word. 
Lions,  tigers,  most  carnivora,  are  brave ;  hares,  deer,  most 
herbivora,  are  timid  or  even  cowardly.  A  distinction  is 
recognized  between  well-bred  dogs,  like  the  mastiff  and  the 
bulldog,  and  "  cowardly  curs."  Even  the  females  of  most 
of  the  higher  animals,  notably  in  the  case  of  monkeys,  show 


COURAGE  209 

much  fortitude  and  daring  in  caring  for  and  defending  their 
young.  Indeed,  the  evidence  is  so  plentiful  and  familiar 
that  a  word  is  sufficient  to  suggest  it.  Naturally,  since 
they  are  not  endowed  with  volition,  among  animals  cour- 
age is  not  a  matter  of  the  will,  but  of  the  feelings  or  of  the 
intellect.  Moreover,  it  should  be  just  mentioned,  among 
■animals  as  among  men  the  brave  are  rewarded  in  various 
ways,  e.g.  they  are  followed  as  leaders,  they  enjoy  im- 
munity from  interference,  they  are  allowed  a  large  share 
and  the  first  pick  of  the  prey. 

And  coming  to  primitive  men,  courage,  though  begin- 
ning occasionally  to  be  a  matter  of  will,  is  in  the  main 
identical  with  its  animal  prototype.  From  the  first,  men 
appear  who  are  but  slowly  excited  to  fear  and  who  are 
comparatively  insensitive  to  pain.  Others,  either  in  addi- 
tion to  these  qualities,  or  in  contrast  with  them,  are  en- 
dowed with  a  lively  interest  in,  a  sustained  devotion  to,  or 
an  unusual  aptitude  for  warlike  pursuits  and  the  rewards 
and  results  of  successful  warfare.  Men  of  these  types 
are  bom  fighters.  Chiefly  by  virtue  of  their  inborn  dispo- 
sition,  but  partly  by  aid  of  will,  they  achieve  a  degree  of 
endurance  and  daring  that  awakens  the  admiration  and 
respect  of  their  more  ordinary  fellows. 

Moreover,  partly  because  instinct  impels  to  such  treat- 
ment, and  partly  because  experience  and  reason  teach  their 
value,  the  brave  receive  the  highest  rewards  in  the  gift 
of  their  associates.  The  instinctive  admiration  and  reward 
for  bravery  is,  of  course,  an  inheritance  by  man  from  his 
animal  ancestry.  But  there  is  a  difference.  Animals  with 
their  narrowly  limited  foresight  cannot  trace  consequences 
back  to  the  actions  from  which  they  spring,  and  cannot 
accordingly  by  reflection  gain  any  insight,  adequate  to 
insure  its  encouragement,  into  the  paramount  social  value 
of  individual  courage.  If  individuals  are  to  be  deterred 
from  cowardice  and  spurred  on  to  courage  by  social  press- 
ure, and  if  the  risks  of  premature  death  and  consequent 


210  ETHICS 

failure  in  offspring  run  by  the  brave  are  to  be  counterbal- 
anced by  equal  or  greater  favours  granted  them  by  their 
animal  associates,  so  as  to  secure  courage  from  extermina- 
tion at  the  hands  of  adverse  natural  selection,  the  pressure 
and  the  favours  must  be  matters  of  instinct,  for  reflection  is 
non-existent  and  cannot  stimulate  to  them.  And  what  is 
true  of  social  animals  is  also  true  of  men  as  they  arise  from 
the  animal  state,  and  for  long  thereafter.  From  the  very 
first  steadiness  and  daring  have  awakened  among  men  an 
admiration  so  spontaneous  as  to  be  evidently  instinctive. 
This  is  witnessed  to,  if  witness  is  needed,  by  the  first  rude 
poetry,  which  tells  of  valorous  deeds,  by  the  organization 
of  savage  hordes  under  the  chieftainship  of  the  bravest 
fighters,  and  by  the  deification  of  mighty  warriors ;  for  in 
all  these  activities  primitive  men  obey  the  promptings  of 
nature,  not  of  deliberation.  And  even  to  the  present  day 
the  instinct  survives.  Our  admiration  for  courage  is  only 
partly  a  coldly  calculating  encouragement  of  conduct  seen 
to  be  generally  advantageous.  In  presence  of  deeds  of 
exceptional  daring  or  endurance,  the  lighting  of  the  eye 
and  the  glow  about  the  heart  are  spontaneous  tributes  to 
their  worth. 

And  yet  from  the  first  appearance  of  man,  to  the  natural, 
a  reflective  appreciation  of  courage  began  to  add  itself. 
For  individual  bravery  is  quite  plainly  to  the  advantage 
of  all,  especially  at  first  when  savage  men  live  in  small 
hordes  surrounded  by  ever  hostile  neighbours.  "  We  may 
state  that  in  early  social  stages  fighting  power  was  the 
critical  or  essential  power  for  each  race;  that  those  in 
which  it  flourished  most  conquered,  and  often  extermi- 
nated the  rest.  .  .  .  Savage  tribes  may  often  be  said  to 
hold  life  at  every  moment  upon  the  tenure  of  military 
prowess.  .  .  ."  And,  "  The  utility  of  courage  must  have 
been  a  very  obvious  discovery  as  soon  as  any  reflection 
became  possible.  No  condition  of  the  preservation  of  a 
community  could  be  so  palpable  or  pressed  by  such  con- 


COURAGE  211 

stant  and  repeated  experience  upon  the  attention  of  its 
members.  They  could  see  every  day  that  their  existence 
depended  upon  the  readiness  to  confront  danger."  ^  Brave 
warriors  render,  under  savage  conditions,  most  conspicious 
service  to  all,  and  are  appreciated  and  rewarded  for  the 
reason  that  they  do  so. 

With  the  reflective  appreciation  of  courage,  courage  as 
a  quality  of  will  for  the  first  time  becomes  possible.  When 
the  individual,  together  with  the  rest  of  his  tribe,  comes  to 
form  the  conception  of  courage,  to  appreciate  its  utility, 
and  to  desire  it  as  a  valuable  and  worthy  characteristic  of 
conduct  and  character,  then  on  occasions  he  is  stimulated 
to  endeavour,  to  endure,  and  to  dare  in  spite  of  the  shrink- 
ings  of  suffering  and  fear.  Even  though  their  nerves  be 
weak,  courage  is  then  possible  to  men  of  strong  will; 
while  for  men  who  are  strong  both  in  nerves  and  in  will, 
at  critical  times  the  little  more  is  possible  —  the  little  more 
that  makes  all  the  difference  between  failure  and  success. 

It  may  thus  be  said  that  military  courage,  independent 
of  the  particular  qualities  of  cliaracter  that  insure  it,  is 
most  highly  considered  in  primitive  warlike  societies,  and 
that  both  instinctive  and  reflective  social  opinion,  in  which 
the  individual  shares,  brings  pressure  to  bear  upon  each  to 
make  him  brave.  It  is  even  probable  that  courage  is  the 
first,  as  it  certainly  is  the  most  highly  prized,  of  the  vir- 
tues or  approved  qualities  of  character.  This  seems  to  be 
the  meaning  of  the  fact  that  our  word  "  virtue  "  is  derived 
from  the  Latin  virtus,  originally  meaning  courage  or  man- 
liness, of  which  moreover  the  Greek  word  for  virtue,  aperi], 
is  a  substantial  equivalent.  And  if  it  is  true  that  at  first 
virtue  was  synonymous  with  courage,  that  courage  was  the 
only  virtue  recognized,  it  is  only  natural  to  infer  that  by 
a  process  of  development  and  specialization,  the  other  vir- 
tues largely  developed  out  of  courage  ;  and  in  fact  this  is 
the  case. 

»  Stephen,  Science  of  Eth.,  Ch.  V,  H. 


212  ETHICS 

Among  savage  and  primitive  tribes,  then,  the  courage 
that  is  so  highly,  and  probably  exclusively,  commended,  is 
very  narrowly  conceived.  For,  in  the  first  place,  it  includes 
no  more  than  unusual  endurance  and  daring  under  attack 
of  human  enemies.  Little  or  no  disgrace  attaches  to  giv- 
ing way  before  other  than  human  foes,  for  instance,  before 
the  supernatural,  whether  represented  by  commotions  of 
Nature,  such  as  storms  and  earthquakes,  or  by  the  threats 
of  the  gods,  as  voiced  by  priests  or  read  in  omens.  To 
the  savage,  human  enemies  seem  natural  and  normal  foes, 
and  to  flinch  before  them  he  considers  unmanly;  but  it 
cither  does  not  occur  to  him  to  attempt  to  master  the 
many  other  inner  and  outer,  psychic  and  physical,  oppo- 
nents of  man,  or  else,  in  some  cases,  it  seems  to  him 
beyond  the  capacity  of  man  to  nerve  himself  for  such 
unequal  conquests.  And,  in  the  second  place,  courage 
is  at  first  conceived  as  including  only  one  form  of  warlike 
conduct,  the  disregard  of  suffering  and  danger,  the  treat- 
ing of  them  as  if  they  did  not  exist. 

Self-po88e88ton.  —  Out  of  this  slight  germ  it  is  that  the 
rich  civilized  conception  of  courage  and  of  at  least  some 
of  the  other  virtues  develops.  And,  as  is  natural,  the 
first  expansion,  while  still  including  under  courage  only 
warlike  conduct,  comes  to  admit  within  the  conception 
forms  of  warlike  activity  other  than  those  that  merely  dis- 
regard suffering  and  danger.  It  soon  becomes  apparent 
that  undiscriminating  insensibility  to  present  and  future 
pain  and  loss  is  often  a  quality  the  opposite  of  valuable. 
While  it  is  still  evident  that  by  cowardly  flight  a  warrior 
injures  all  his  tribe,  it  also  comes  to  be  recognized,  with 
increase  of  intelligence,  that  injury  is  suffered  at  the 
hands  of  the  rash  leader  who  runs  unnecessary  risks.  It 
is  still  considered  cowardly  to  flinch  from  present  or  pro- 
spective disaster,  but  in  addition  it  is  seen  that  the  cour- 
age displayed  by  the  man  who  uses  his  wits  effectively  in 
deciding  on  the  best  measures  for  meeting  critical  situa- 


COURAGE  213 

tions  is  higher  and  more  useful  than  the  courage  whose 
sole  resource  consists  in  foolhardy  disregard  of  essential 
facts.  The  conception  of  courage  has  been  so  broadened 
that,  in  addition  to  mere  physical  indifference  to  suffering, 
it  includes  an  intellectual  element,  the  ability  to  keep 
one's  head,  to  control  one's  actions  calmly,  without  pur- 
turbation,  and  with  the  degree  of  keenness  and  breadth  of 
view  with  which  one  is  naturally  endowed.  Then,  in  the 
words  of  Mr.  Stephen,  "  Courage  changes  ita  quality  to 
some  extent,  and  we  admire  the  kind  of  courage  which  is 
manifested  by  the  general  commanding  under  stress  of 
great  danger  and  heavy  responsibility  more  than  the  sim- 
ple courage  of  the  soldier  who  walks  up  to  a  battery,  or 
of  a  hunter  who  confronts  a  tiger  in  his  jungle." 

Other  Forms  of  Courage.  —  The  further  development  of 
courage  and  of  its  conception  are  probably  dependent  on 
and  incident  to  the  growth  in  importance  of  peaceful  as 
compared  with  warlike  pursuits.  As  conditions  become 
more  settled,  and  longer  intervals  elapse  between  succes- 
sive wars,  the  efficiency  of  men  in  peaceful  callings  comes 
to  be  more  and  more  regarded  in  estimating  their  char- 
acters. Military  ability  and  courage,  both  physical  and 
(though  to  lesser  extent)  intelligent,  are  not  infrequently 
found  joined  to  other  qualities  and  to  defects  that  render 
their  possessors  more  or  less  unfit  for  the  less  stimulating 
duties  of  peace.  When  freed  from  the  control  and  respon- 
sibility of  the  campaign,  the  soldier  is  often  irascible, 
overbearing,  lawless,  and  brutal,  and  it  may  be  lazy, 
intemperate,  and  cunningly  cruel.  Danger  and  conflict 
stimulate  some  temperaments  to  do  their  utmost,  while  in 
the  tedium  of  peace  they  find  little  that  appeals  to  the 
imagination  and  incites  to  effort,  and  in  peaceful  folk  little 
that  calls  forth  their  respect ;  besides  there  is  danger  that 
the  conduct  towards  enemies,  that  war  has  made  habitual, 
may  be  practised  in  some  measure  towards  fellow-tribes- 
men during  peace.     Men  with  such  qualities  are  turbu- 


214  ETHICS 

lent  and  inefficient  members  of  peaceful  communities, 
obviously  at  best  useless,  and  at  woi*st  positively  harmful, 
in  act  and  example  alike.  And  while  their  brave  mili- 
tary services,  past  and  prospective,  awaken  admiration 
and  appreciation,  these  feelings  are  likely  to  diminish  and 
possibly  to  disappear  if  peace  lasts  too  long,  and  if  the 
men  who  aroused  them  do  not  succeed  in  adjusting  them- 
selves to  peaceful  conditions. 

Other  qualities,  useful  in  peace,  thus  come  to  be  set 
alongside  of  military  courage  as  objects  of  general  admira- 
tion and  respect.  Many  of  these  qualities  fall  without 
the  conception  of  courage,  and  will  be  discussed  when  the 
other  virtues  come  up  for  consideration,  but  some  of  them 
are  in  essence  the  same  as  courage  and  gradually  come  to 
be  recognized  as  instances  of  that  virtue.  This  process 
is  very  gradual  in  a  double  sense.  The  various  phases  of 
courage  in  civic,  in  industrial,  and,  in  general,  in  non- 
military  life,  are  slow  to  evolve  as  distinct  qualities,  for 
the  reason  that  it  is  only  as  society  becomes  complex  and 
occupation  specialized  that  opportunities  for  their  exer- 
cise make  their  appearance.  And,  secondly,  the  various 
kinds  of  courage  must  each  be  in  existence  for  some  time 
before  it  comes  to  distinct  consciousness  and  is  recognized 
as  courage.  The  evolution  of  each  of  the  species  of 
courage  presents  an  interesting  problem,  especially  the 
evolution  of  industriousness  and  honesty,  without  which 
civilization  is  impossible.  But  space  limitations  prevent 
the  broaching  of  these  problems  here,  and  it  is  sufficient 
to  sketch  the  general  lines  of  development. 

As  the  utility  of  other  callings  besides  the  military  comes 
to  be  appreciated,  effectiveness  in  them  is  recognized  and 
men  with  the  faculty  of  meeting  and  overcoming  obstacles, 
whether  in  their  chosen  field  or  in  general,  compel  the 
admiration  of  their  fellows  and  are  rewarded  accordingly. 
Naturally,  different  obstacles  are  encountered  in  the  vari- 
ous fields,  and  the  courage  required  to  meet  them  man- 


COURAGE  215 

fully  varies  accordingly.  The  sailor,  the  physician,  and 
the  business  man  are  confronted  by,  and  must  be  prepared 
to  face,  very  different  forms  of  risk  and  disaster,  and  the 
general  estimate  of  the  character  of  any  of  them  is  much 
less  seriously  lowered  by  his  failure  in  the  fields  of  other 
men's  chosen  activities  than  by  failure  in  his  chosen  field. 
It  is  hardly  expected  of  a  physician  that  he  should  be 
unappalled  by  a  storm  at  sea,  and  it  certainly  is  not  ex- 
pected, whatever  the  need,  that  he  should  climb  a  mast 
and  reef  a  sail,  any  more  than  it  is  expected  of  a  sailor, 
though  off  duty,  that  he  should  hasten  to  the  small-pox 
hospital  and  tend  the  sick.  Indeed,  in  some  cases,  e.g.  in 
women  and  children,  modesty  is  admired;  and,  though 
modesty  is  often  courageous,  and  is  quite  compatible  with 
a  clear  head,  it  is  so  different  from  that  self-assertive  dis- 
regard of  all  danger,  first  recognized  as  courage,  that  com- 
mendation of  it  may  well  be  taken  as  an  indication  of  the 
advance  that  has  been  made  since  courage  was  first  recog- 
nized. 

In  general,  then,  it  comes  to  be  seen  that  to  run  some 
risks  is  the  opposite  of  admirable,  and  that  for  different 
men  courage  is  exercised  in  different  directions  and  in 
regard  to  different  dangers  and  pains,  thus  giving  rise  to 
the  various  species  of  courage.  No  doubt  soldierly  cour- 
age for  a  long  time,  and  even  now  (probably  because  of 
its  instinctive  origin)  is  most  highly  admired;  more 
highly  admired  by  people  generally  than,  for  instance,  the 
courage  of  the  fireman  who  braves  flames  and  tottering 
walls,  or  the  equal  courage  of  the  physician  who  repeat- 
edly runs  the  risks  of  repulsive,  painful,  and  disabling 
diseases.  Yet  whatever  their  relative  valuations,  many 
forms  of  courage  are  in  time  recognized,  and,  as  is  but 
natural,  greatly  as  they  differ,  they  are  in  essence  the 
same.  In  all  forms,  either  difficult  situations  are  faced 
firmly,  or  the  decisions  reached  are  resolutely  adhered  to 
in  spite  of  risks  and  obstacles.     It  is,  of  course,  only  grad- 


216  ETHICS 

ually  that  the  essential  nature  of  courage  comes  to  be 
articulately  conceived,  and  probably  even  now  there  are 
not  many  men  who  have  leisure  and  inclination  to  frame 
it.  But  though  not  a  matter  of  distinct  conception  to 
many,  the  knowledge  of  what  courage  is  has  long  been  a 
matter  of  feeling  to  well-poised  men,  and  in  this  form  has 
enabled  them  to  recognize  new  species  as  they  have  ap- 
peared, and  to  group  them  under  the  head  of  courage  as 
objects  of  admiration. 

§  3.     Moral  Courage 

In  what  precedes  courage  has  been  spoken  of  in  general 
terms  as  a  quality  that  has  awakened  admiration,  and  no 
attempt  has  been  made,  either  to  single  out  the  species 
known  as  moral  courage  from  the  genu^,  or  to  discover 
how  and  when  the  former  came  to  be  distinctly  conceived. 
In  fact  the  distinction,  though  genuine,  is  too  subtle  to  be 
prominent  in  popular  thought,  for  it  rests  on  the  distinction 
between  the  admirable  and  the  commendable  (j  ayadov  koI 
KoKov)^  which  even  the  keenest  of  the  acute  Greeks  failed  to 
distinguish.  And  accordingly  any  attempt  to  trace  sepa- 
rately the  development  of  moral  courage  and  its  conception 
would  have  reached  results  so  tentative  and  insecure  as  to 
be  useless. 

But  in  modern  times,  as  a  result  of  the  essentially  moral 
development  of  the  last  nineteen  centuries,  all  ethical  ideas 
have  become  much  clearer,  and  the  specific  distinction 
under  consideration  has  become  sufficiently  prominent  to 
be  fit  for  helpful  description.  A  little  reflection  will  make 
it  plain  that,  though  always  admired,  courageous  men  and 
actions  are  often  disapproved,  and  that  sometimes  coura- 
geous actions  are  regarded  as  non-moral.  As  Mr.  Stephen 
says,  "  If  courage  [were]  intrinsically  virtuous,  ...  we 
should  have  to  admit  that  every  manifestation  of  courage 
was  virtuous,  and  we  should  call  a  man  good  because  he 
met  a  tiger  unflinchingly  when  he  was  simply  engaged  in 


COURAGE  217 

sport,"  whereas  in  fact  no  one  would  think  that  such  an 
act  had  any  moral  quality.  And  again,  men  undoubtedly 
admire  an  Alexander  or  a  Napoleon,  indeed,  cannot  but 
admire  them,  but  there  is  much  in  their  lives,  including 
some  of  their  boldest  deeds,  that  is  all  but  universally  con- 
demned. It  seems,  accordingly,  that  some  courageous 
actions  have  moral  value,  while  others  have  not,  and  it  is 
pertinent  to  ask  what  characteristic  is  present  in  the  former 
in  addition  to  their  braveiy. 

Subjectively  Moral  Courage.  —  One  characteristic  that  ob- 
viously brings  courageous  action  within  the  moral  sphere  is 
what  has  been  called  its  subjective  Tightness  in  Chapter  III. 
If  a  man  bravely  does  what  he  considers  his  duty,  his  act, 
though  it  should  chance  to  be  mistaken  and  injurious, 
is  both  admirable  and  genuinely  though  incompletely 
moral.  And  it  is  acts  of  this  kind  that  display  what  is 
properly  to  be  called  moral  courage,  and  not,  as  a  loose 
usage  suggests,  acts  that  brave  public  opinion  or  pressure 
of  friends,  or  acts  in  which  the  head  is  kept  clear  in  spite 
of  suffering  and  danger;  for  in  any  of  these  cases  the  motive 
may  be  non-moral  or  even  immoral.  Kant,  it  will  be 
remembered,  regards  acts  displaying  moral  courage  (to- 
gether with  acts  of  temperance  in  which  desires  or  appetites 
are  restrained  from  moral  motives,  or,  in  general,  all 
actions  performed  for  duty's  sake)  as  supremely  and  com- 
pletely moral.  He  denies  that  they  are  in  any  way 
deficient  or  exceptionable  from  any  point  of  view.  And 
there  can  be  no  doubt  but  what  moral  courage  is  most 
highly  esteemed  and  respected  by  all.  Indeed,  if  a  virtue 
were  a  quality  of  character  that  is  generally,  or  on  the 
whole,  of  the  highest  value,  moral  courage  would  beyond 
doubt  be  a  virtue,  and  one  of  the  greatest  among  the 
virtues.  For  the  highest  convictions  are  but  pious  wishes, 
ineffective  and  useless,  in  men  so  weak  in  character  as  to 
be  deterred  from  carrying  them  out  by  pain  or  threat  of 
pain.     But  a  virtue  is  a  quality  of  character  that  insures 


218  ETHICS 

the  performance  of  objectively  moral  conduct,  as  the  word 
"virtue"  is  here  used,  and  moral  courage,  it  must  be 
admitted,  does  not  satisfy  the  definition.  Consciences 
sometimes  err  grievously ;  so  much  so  that  at  times  there 
seems  ground  for  holding  that  more  harm  is  done  by 
blunderers,  though  their  intentions  be  the  best,  than  by  all 
the  host  of  conscious  evil-doers ;  at  least  against  the  latter 
men  are  forewarned  and  on  their  guard,  while  the  former 
take  the  heart  out  of  moral  enthusiasm  by  undermining 
faith  in  morality's  power  for  good.  Kant,  who  did  not 
recognize  the  distinction  between  objective  and  subjective 
morality,  was  unable  to  perceive  any  defect  in  conduct 
inspired  by  duty,  and  to  him  it  seemed  the  highest.  But 
at  the  end  of  the  nineteenth  century,  partly  because  life  has 
taken  on  a  great  increase  of  complexity,  and  partly  because 
the  moral  nature  is  allowed  to  grow  up  at  haphazard  and 
without  education,  there  are  so  many  cases  of  acute  ill- 
adjustment  between  individual  consciences  and  the  condi- 
tions in  which  they  live  —  there  are  so  many  moral  cranks 
and  blunderers,  that  it  is  impossible  to  trust  conscience 
implicitly  as  Kant  did,  and  impossible  consequently  to  look 
on  moral  courage,  when  by  itself  and  unaided,  as  a  virtue, 
as  a  quality  of  character  that  insures  objectively  moral 
conduct. 

Courage  as  a  Virtue.  —  Moral  courage  then,  without  the 
saving  grace  of  common  sense,  cannot  be  called  a  virtue : 
a  man  so  obtuse  to  the  nature  of  conscience  as  to  put 
absolute  trust  in  his  own,  and  to  set  it  up  against  the 
world,  may  be  heroic,  but  he  is  also  dangerous.  It  remains 
accordingly  to  hold  that  moral  courage  is  a  virtue  only  in 
80  far  as  the  conscience  resolutely  followed  is  in  accord 
with  the  standard  conscience.  In  a  word,  only  men  who 
can  be  counted  on  to  be  beneficent  in  spite  of  disinclination, 
discomfort,  and  pain,  present  and  prospective,  are  endowed 
with  the  virtue  of  courage.  In  men,  if  any  such  there 
be,  whose   judgments  are    perfectly  sound,  so  that   they 


COURAGE  219 

always,  and,  as  it  were,  inevitably  know  what  will  best 
minister  to  social  welfare,  moral  courage  is  an  unmixed 
good.  It  is  easy  on  the  basis  of  this  conclusion  to  infer 
that  courage  is  merely  a  kind  of  beneficence,  and  in  fact 
some  authors  have  so  held.  But  such  a  view  is  erroneous, 
for  it  confuses  a  quality  of  chaiacter  with  the  conduct  to 
which  it  leads.  According  to  the  conception  of  morality 
here  developed,  in  so  far  as  it  has  as  yet  been  developed, 
those  actions  are  objectively  moral  which  minister  to  social 
welfare,  and  the  cardinal  virtues  are  qualities  of  character 
indispensable  for  insuring  the  performance  of  such  actions. 
Among  these  qualities  courage  is  one,  and  will  always 
be  indispensable.  Insight  into  moial  principles  and  the 
faculty  of  applying  them  wisely  to  concrete  emergencies 
are  a  fruitful  source  of  beneficent  action,  and  the  same  can 
be  said  of  proper  feelings  towards  the  various  interests 
affected  by  human  actions.  But  contingencies  have 
always  arisen,  and  are  sure  always  to  arise  where  duty 
requires  actions  opposed  by  inclination,  and  for  whose 
performance  will-power  is  indispensable,  and  this  is  but 
another  way  of  saying  that  without  courage  duty  would 
often  fail  of  performance. 

The  conception  that  has  been  reached  of  courage  as  a 
virtue,  is  an  incomplete  conception,  and  so  must  remain 
till  the  progress  of  the  inquiry  develops  a  more  adequate 
account  of  beneficent  action.  We  know  that  beneficent 
actions  are  actions  that  further  sentient  welfare,  but  much 
remains  to  be  discovered  about  the  nature  of  the  actions 
that  accomplish  this  result.  Future  chapters,  especially 
the  chapter  on  justice,  must  be  relied  on  to  fill  out  our 
knowledge. 

In  summary,  then,  it  may  be  said,  (1)  that  while  admi- 
rable, physical  or  blind  courage  that  disregards  danger  and 
suffering,  and  mental  or  clear-headed  courage  that  plans 
intelligently  and  firmly  in  spite  of  their  disturbing  influ- 
-ence,  are  not  infrequently  non-moral  or  even  immoral; 


220  ETHICS 

(2)  that  the  habit  of  moral  courage  is  subjectively  right 
and  in  so  far  approved,  but  is  also  at  times  injurious  rather 
than  helpful,  and  cannot  therefore  be  called  a  virtue ;  and 

(3)  that,  though  ignorance  of  the  nature  of  beneficence 
makes  the  definition  incomplete,  the  only  statement  at 
present  justified  is,  that  courage  as  a  virtue  consists  in 
resolute  beneficence  in  spite  of  aversion  in  any  form. 

The  progress  of  the  discussion  has  no  doubt  made  plain 
the  reason  for  regarding  courage  as  a  virtue  of  will.  Only 
acts  difficult  for  the  individual  to  perform,  acts  performed 
by  dint  of  self-control,  are  genuinely  courageous ;  it  is  in 
this  that  their  heroism  consists.  The  first  undiscriminat- 
ing  view  too  hastily  assumes  that  achievements  difficult 
for  the  ordinary  man  have  this  heroic  quality.  A  keener 
insight  insists  that  acts  are  courageous  only  if  the  agent 
has  a  strong  impulsion  against  them,  failing  to  perceive 
that  when  a  stronger  feeling  impels  to  them  they  are  not 
difficult.  The  fully  developed  and  correct  view  discerns 
the  fact  that  acts  are  courageous  only  in  so  far  as  their  per- 
formance is  due  to  determination  and  firm  resolve.  In  gen- 
eral it  may  be  pointed  out  that  the  conception  of  courage 
grows  in  two  relatively  independent  directions.  At  first 
courage  is  very  broadly  conceived  as  a  quality  of  character, 
and  very  narrowly  conceived  as  a  kind  of  action.  As 
time  goes  on  it  comes  to  be  very  precisely  conceived  as  a 
quality,  and  very  broadly  and  yet  specifically  conceived  as 
a  comprehensive  class  of  actions  under  which  are  many 
subclasses. 


CHAPTER  XI 

Temperance 
§  1.     Introduction 

It  is  unfortunate  that  the  difficulty  of  the  problem  of 
temperance  has  made  it  so  highly  contentious.  That  it  is 
difficult  it  is  impossible  to  deny,  and  indeed  the  early  part 
of  the  present  discussion  will  have  to  be  largely  taken  up 
in  pointing  out  how  serious  the  difficulties  are.  But  the 
greater  and  the  more  serious  the  difficulties,  the  more 
need  there  is  for  full  understanding  of  them,  and  for  calm- 
ness in  meeting  and  trying  to  overcome  them.  Although 
consensus  of  opinion  does  not,  to  judge  from  current  dis- 
cussions, extend  very  far,  yet  there  is  considerable  agree- 
ment in  practice,  and,  for  reasons  that  will  appear  later, 
the  agreement  has  much  significance.  However  dark  the 
details,  the  essentials  in  the  matter  of  temperance  can  be 
set  down  with  some  assurance. 

As  used  in  current  discussion,  the  word  "temperance" 
stands  for  regulation  of  the  appetite  for  strong  drink. 
This  narrow  usage  will  not  be  retained  here.  In  the 
present  discussion  temperance  will  mean  the  habitual 
control  by  the  will  of  all  appetites  and  desires,  in  accord- 
ance with  the  rules  of  objective  morality.  The  business 
of  this  chapter  is  to  discover  and  formulate  these  rules,  as 
fully  and  precisely  as  the  difficulties  of  the  subject  will 
allow. 

Historically  and  logically  the  regulation  indicated  has 
primary  regard  not  so  much  to  the  random  desires  that 

221 


222  ETHICS 

vary  from  man  to  man  as  to  the  bodily  appetites  present 
in  all  men.  Remembering  that  courage  is  concerned  with 
aversions  and  temperance  with  desires,  a  significant  differ- 
ence between  the  two  appears.  There  are  no  main  classes 
of  aversions  clustering  about  bodily  states ;  aversions  are 
scattering  and  unorganized.  But  the  main  desires,  on  the 
other  hand,  are  well  organized,  and  may  be  classed  under 
main  heads  known  as  the  appetites.  These  latter  first 
attract  attention  as  requiring  regulation,  and  are  always 
leaders,  so  to  speak,  among  the  unruly  desires ;  until  the 
appetites  are  controlled  little  can  be  done  with  the  lesser 
desires. 

An  appetite  may  be  roughly  defined  as  a  desire  with  a 
massive  bodily  basis.  As  typical  may  be  mentioned  the 
appetites  for  food,  drink,  and  air.  When  unsatisfied,  the 
bodily  cravings,  hunger,  thirst,  and  suffocation  appear, 
and  strongly  stimulate  actions  that  promise  to  supply  the 
lack.  The  first  problem  for  temperance  is  to  formulate 
appropriate  rules  for  controlling  the  appetites ;  afterwards, 
in  the  light  of  these  rules,  suggestions  can  be  made  look- 
ing to  the  control  of  the  lesser  desires.  As  a  means  of 
introducing  this  problem  the  first  section  will  give  an 
epitomized  sketch  of  the  biological  r61e  of  the  appetites 
and  of  attempts  to  regulate  them.  No  attempt  will  be 
made  to  follow  historical  sequence  closely,  but  the  princi- 
pal forces  that  have  taken  part  in  the  long  conflict  between 
the  appetites  and  the  influences  seeking  to  control  them 
will  be  briefly  described. 

It  is  just  worth  calling  to  mind  that  no  attempt  has 
ever  been  made  to  regulate  the  appetite  for  air.  The 
reasons  for  this  fact  are  easy  to  find,  and  the  reader  may 
be  repaid  in  looking  them  up. 

§  2.    The  Struggle  for  and  against  the  Appetites 

The  Strength  of  the  Appetites.  —  The  three  fundamental 
appetites  of  food,  drink,  and  sex,  together  with  the  attempts 


TEMPERANCE  223 

that  have  been  made  to  control  them,  form  the  subject- 
matter  of  this  section.  In  order  to  understand  the  problem, 
it  is  necessary  to  realize  fully  that  the  strongest  forces  of 
human  nature  have  been  ranged  on  either  side  in  this 
unceasing  struggle.  The  strength  of  the  appetites  will 
be  better  appreciated  after  a  reminder  of  the  r81e  they 
play  far  back  in  animal  life,  and  continue  to  play  in  the 
struggle  for  existence  of  the  supreme  animal,  man. 

Food  and  drink  are  essential  to  individual  existence 
for  every  animal,  and,  owing  partly  to  their  limited  quanti- 
ties, and  partly  to  the  competition  for  the  available  supply, 
they  are  at  frequent  intervals,  of  longer  or  shorter  dura- 
tion, extremely  diflBcult  to  secure.  Much  suffering  and 
a  large  output  of  energy  is  the  price  animals  pay  for  the 
food  and  drink  necessary  to  sustain  life.  And  of  course 
none  but  those  under  the  lash  of  strong  desires  will  make 
such  sacrifices.  Animals  in  whom  hunger  and  thirst  are 
too  little  insistent,  soon  perish ;  those  who  survive,  display 
great  daring,  great  endurance,  or  great  cunning  when 
spurred  on  by  hunger  or  thirst. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  sexual  appetite  makes  very 
little,  if  at  all,  for  individual  survival.  Were  it  entirely 
to  disappear  from  a  species,  the  life  chances  of  existing 
adults  would  be  little  affected.^  The  function  of  this 
appetite  is  to  perpetuate  the  species,  and,  as  there  are 
many  obstacles  in  the  way  of  perpetuation,  only  species 
in  which  the  appetite  is  strong  survive.  Besides,  strong 
sexual  appetite  is  indirectly  of  advantage  to  a  species,  by 
making  rivalry  keen  and  fighting  fierce,  and  thus  insuring 
offspring,  in  the  long  run,  only  to  the  most  efficient. 

It  is  evident,  then,  that  in  man,  the  descendant  of  species 
successful  in  the  struggle  for  existence,  the  three  funda- 
mental appetites  must  always  have  been  strong. 

Another  fact  too  often  neglected  is,  that  these  appetites 
were  fostered,  and  grew  to  great  proportions,  when  the 
1  Assuming  that  its  disappearance  did  not  affect  other  powen. 


224  ETHICS 

difficulties  in  the  way  of  satisfying  them  were  incompa- 
rably greater  than  they  are  at  present.  To  procure  food 
and  drink,  and  to  rear  offspring  to  maturity,  were  most 
precarious  undertakings  throughout  the  long  geological 
ages  during  which  man's  animal  ancestors  were  gradually 
rising  to  the  human  level.  And,  even  for  man  himself, 
the  dangers  and  sacrifices  were  great  far  into  historic 
times,  indeed  until  a  relatively  advanced  stage  of  civiliza- 
tion was  reached.  In  short,  man  inherited  his  appetites 
from  a  less  intelligent  animal  ancestry,  for  whom  it  was 
more  difficult  to  secure  the  means  of  satisfying  them,  and, 
in  like  manner,  each  generation  of  men,  more  efficient 
than  the  last,  and  therefore  able  with  less  difficulty  and 
sacrifice  to  procure  food  and  drink  and  to  rear  offspring, 
is  nevertheless  endowed  with  appetites  strong  enough  for 
the  conditions  of  greater  difficulty  confronting  preced- 
ing generations.  Besides  these  quantitative  considerations 
relating  to  the  intensity  of  the  appetites,  there  are  quali- 
tative considerations  relating  to  their  intelligent  satisfac- 
tion, to  be  considered  more  fully  later ;  but  even  now  the 
general  truth  is  plain  that  each  generation  has  found 
itself  endowed  with  appetites  stronger  than  necessary, 
in  view  of  the  ever  increasing  ease  with  which  they  are 
satisfied,  and  especially  in  view  of  the  fact  that  impera- 
tiveness of  satisfaction  constantly  decreases  in  importance, 
while  intelligent  choice  of  time,  occasion,  and  manner  of 
satisfaction  constantly  increases  in  importance.  It  will 
be  readily  seen  that  the  possession  by  man  of  appetites, 
always  indispensable,  but  always  unduly  strong,  consti- 
tutes a  practical  problem  that  may  well  tax  his  wits  to 
solve  satisfactorily.  Some  men  unduly  realize  the  worth 
of  the  appetites,  others  their  inordinate  strength,  and  be- 
tween the  two  an  unceasing  conflict  is  waged.  After  a 
further  word  of  explanation,  the  details  of  the  conflict 
will  be  suggested. 

What  has  been  said  of  the  three  fundamental  appetites 


TEMPERANCE 

is  also  true,  though  within  narrower  limits,  of  the  secondary- 
appetite  for  intoxicants,  intoxicating  and  exhilarating  drinks 
being  the  most  notable  among  them.  While  secondary, 
this  appetite  is  very  important  for  Ethics,  more  important, 
in  fact,  than  the  drink  or  even  the  food  appetite,  both  of 
the  latter  being  all  but  satisfactorily  regulated  by  instinct. 

The  strength  of  the  appetite  for  intoxicants  in  man  is  to 
be  explained  by  the  advantages  for  him  of  heightened  con- 
sciousness. To  all  animals  it  is  advantageous  to  be  in  a 
state  of  exhilaration  and  of  heightened  activity,  and  to 
man,  whose  chief  dependence  is  wide-awake  intelligence, 
a  lively  consciousness  is  the  most  important  of  all  things,  a 
thing  to  whose  procurement  and  cultivation  it  is  advanta- 
geous for  him  to  be  strongly  inclined.  A  sleepy  race  of 
men  that  prefers  a  dull  dimness  of  mind  to  alert  exhilara- 
tion of  thought  and  feeling  has  less  chance  of  survival 
and  no  chance  of  advance.  The  tropical  races  are  tem- 
perate in  drink,  but  they  are  also  somnolent.  The  bent 
towards  intemperance  of  the  northern  races  is  the  result 
of  their  delight  in  physical  activity  and  mental  alertness. 
At  least,  delight  in  heightened  consciousness  is  the  central 
core  of  the  appetite,  though  minor  constituents,  such  as 
the  pleasure  of  throwing  off  care,  might  easily  be  men- 
tioned. 

But  while  the  strength  of  the  appetite  for  lively  con- 
sciousness is  comparable  to  the  strength  of  the  funda- 
mental appetites,  what  was  said  of  the  decreasing  need 
for  strength  in  the  latter  cannot  be  repeated  without 
modification  in  case  of  the  former.  As  social  conditions 
increase  in  complexity,  alert  living  must  be  at  a  higher 
pitch  as  well  as  more  continuous,  and  the  desire  for  it  and 
delight  in  it  must  be  at  once  more  intense  and  more  sus- 
tained, if  the  indispensable  work  of  society  is  to  be  saved 
from  fatal  carelessness  and  blunder.  In  order  that  man 
should  advance,  it  is  necessary  that  the  desires  for  richness, 
fulness  and  keenness  of  thought  and  feeling  should  increase 

0 


226  ETHICS 

rather  than  diminish.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  equally  as 
important  as  these  quantitative  considerations  are  qualita- 
tive considerations.  There  is  imperative  need  for  dis- 
criminative selection,  so  that  desire  may  cling  to  heightened 
consciousness  that  is  effective,  and  become  detached  from 
consciousness  however  heightened,  if  it  is  ineffective  or 
harmful.  When  and  in  so  far  as  intoxicants  excite  height- 
ened consciousness  that  is  helpful  to  society,  the  desire 
for  them  is  advantageous  ;  when  and  in  so  far  as  the  states 
of  mind  they  excite  are  harmful,  the  opposite  is  true.  The 
problem  of  temperance  in  the  matter  of  intoxicants  is  to 
draw  the  dividing  line  aright. 

In  the  more  detailed  consideration  of  the  control  of  the 
appetites  it  will  be  best  to  discuss  first  the  appetite  for 
intoxicants,  and  incidentally  the  food  appetite,  and  then 
go  on  to  discuss  sexual  indulgences.  In  the  latter  case 
the  consequences  are  very  different  from  what  they  are  in 
the  former,  and  the  forces  at  play  in  the  two  cases  cannot 
be  discussed  at  the  same  time  without  confusion.  In  dis- 
cussing the  appetites  for  stimulants  and  for  food  the  forces 
that  encourage  their  gratification  and  those  that  oppose  or 
seek  to  control  their  gratification  will  be  considered  in  order. 

Forces  that  favour  the  Food  and  Drink  Appetites. —  The 
appetites  in  question  being,  as  has  been  shown,  among 
the  very  strongest  in  man,  naturally  the  pleasure  derived 
from  their  gratification  is  very  great.  And,  to  primitive 
man,  ignorant  of  physical,  psychical,  and  social  laws,  these 
pleasures  seem  to  be  all  but  unmixed  goods.  Primitive 
man  is  like  the  Indian  or  other  savage  who  receives  "  fire- 
water "  from  the  whites,  and  looks  upon  the  new  beverage 
as  a  most  welcome  addition  to  his  scanty  sources  of  pleas- 
ure, such  unpleasant  physical  after  effects  as  he  experi- 
ences and  traces  to  that  source  being  easily  negligible 
in  the  large  mass  of  hardships  and  discomforts  to  which 
he  is  inured.  Neither  the  present  nor  the  primitive  savage 
has  the  knowledge  which  would  enable  him  to  look  upon 


TEMPERANCE  227 

overeating  or  overdrinking  as  injurious  to  his  physical 
or  mental  health,  much  less  as  injurious  to  social  health. 
Both  indulgences  rank  high  among  his  delights,  and  he 
cannot  conceive  that  any  one  should  object  to  his  enjoy- 
ment of  them.  Naturally,  ignorance  of  the  effects  of 
these  forms  of  intemperance  steadily  diminishes,  but  the 
diminution  is  slow,  and  even  at  present  among  the  most 
highly  civilized  races  the  inadequacy  and  indefiniteness 
of  knowledge  on  the  subject,  which  prevails  in  different 
degrees  in  all  classes,  is  in  part  reponsible  for  the  imper- 
fect and  insufficient  control  of  these  appetites,  especially 
of  the  appetite  for  strong  drink. 

Besides,  among  primitive  men,  and  among  savages  of 
to-day  unspoiled  by  white  traders,  the  scarcity  of  food 
and  stimulants  renders  the  problem  of  controlling  the  cor- 
responding appetites  relatively  insignificant.  Since  we 
cannot  have  too  much  air,  conscience  makes  no  attempt 
to  regulate  our  breathing.  And,  similarly,  so  long  as 
Nature  furnishes  barely  enough  food,  and  art  only  the 
smallest  quantity  of  intoxicants,  there  is  little  need  for 
regulation  in  those  directions,  and  none  is  attempted. 
It  is  only  when  agriculture  and  manufacture  are  relatively 
well  advanced,  and  life  is  settled  in  peaceful  prosperity, 
that  either  problem  reaches  great  importance.  But  mean- 
time conditions  are  leaving  their  impress.  During  the 
long  period  that  elapses  until  industrial  efficiency  brings 
abundance,  a  feeling  of  safety,  little  justified  under  the 
new  conditions  that  then  appear,  has  been  growing  up 
and  becoming  fixed.  It  has  come  to  be  a  settled  social 
habit  —  witness  the  treatment  of  the  subject  in  literature 
and  art — and,  possibly,  a  nascent  neural  habit,  to  set 
high  value  on  the  pleasures  of  eating  and  drinking.  And 
as  such  estimates  are  slowly  formed  and  firmly  fixed,  they 
are  also  changed  slowly  and  with  difficulty.  The  habit 
of  generations  favours  these  appetites,  or,  at  least,  opposes 
attempts  at  stringent  regulation  of  them. 


228  ETHICS 

In  the  third  place,  because  of  the  sociability  engendered, 
large  indulgences  in  food  and  intoxicants,  far  from  being 
objected  to,  are  looked  upon  with  favour  by  primitive  peo- 
ple, and  indeed,  though  within  limits  defined  with  increas- 
ing care,  by  men  of  all  stages  of  advancement.  The 
common  meal,  being  a  pleasure  in  itself,  and  being  besides 
the  consummation  that  has  crowned  strenuous  effort,  is 
the  natural  occasion  for  relaxation  and  mutual  good  feel- 
ing. And,  equally  naturally,  whatever  adds,  as  the  use  of 
intoxicants  does,  to  the  enjoyment  of  the  meal  and  to  the 
goodfellowship  about  the  board  is  prized  for  that  service. 
The  rise  of  mere  eating  to  the  rank  of  festivity  is  felt  to 
be  and  is  a  real  advance  in  social  life.  In  fact,  research 
shows  that  festivity  plays  an  important  r61e  in  the  lives 
of  primitive  peoples,  and  has  contributed  materially  to 
their  socialization,  by  stimulating  friendliness,  public  dis- 
cussion, mutual  assistance  and  even  political  alliance, 
good-natured  rivalry,  and  even  speech  itself.  These  facts 
have  been  carefully  studied  by  Professor  Giddings,  and 
his  judicious  words  will  help  to  make  the  matter  plain: 
"  There  are  few  tribes  that  do  not  use  intoxicating  drinks 
or  narcotics.  Deplorable  as  are  the  consequences  of  both 
gambling  and  di-unkenness,  the  truthful  scientific  observer 
is  forced  to  admit  that  in  the  early  stages  of  social  devel- 
opment these  vices  have  served  a  useful  function,  and  that 
this  doubtless  is  the  explanation  of  their  astonishing 
vitality.  They  have  been  the  crude  excitants  of  social 
feeling  in  crude  natures.  ...  In  every  savage  and  bar- 
barous tribe  that  has  learned  to  drink  or  to  smoke,  festivity 
is  the  commonest  of  social  pleasures  and  is  a  strong  social 
bond.  Spontaneous  play,  conventionalized  dancing,  games, 
feasting,  and  intoxication  are  combined  in  systematic  festiv- 
ities which  are  periodically  repeated.  Such  occasions  are 
of  great  importance  in  counteracting  the  many  causes  of 
antagonism  in  savage  life.  .  .  .  The  renewal  of  friendly 
intercourse  between  two  tribes  that  had  been  at  war  was 


TEMPERANCE  229 

alwajrs  marked  among  the  native  Australians  by  a  korro- 
boree."  * 

And  essentially  the  same  is  true  of  all  primitive  races, 
and  of  all  groups  of  men  in  the  early  stages  of  social  de- 
velopment. No  doubt  festivity  is  generally  carried  farther 
than  is  necessary,  is  in  fact  generally  carried  so  far  as  partly 
to  defeat  its  purpose,  but  nevertheless  it  must  be  admitted 
that  under  rude  conditions  the  results  of  festivity  show 
a  surplus  of  advantage  over  injury,  not  so  large  a  surplus 
as  is  estimated  by  the  public  opinion  of  the  time,  but  yet 
a  substantial  surplus.  The  long-established  social  esti- 
mate mentioned  in  the  last  paragraph  goes  farther  there- 
fore than  to  regard  large  indulgences  as  innocuous.  It 
looks  upon  them  as  on  the  whole  beneficial,  because  con- 
tributory to  sociability  and  to  lightening  of  the  social  yoke. 
Under  present  conditions,  marked  by  the  presence  of  many 
stimulants  to  sociability,  and  excitants  of  heightened  con- 
sciousness (especially  outdoor  sports),  and  of  ample  food 
and  intoxicants,  the  rSle  of  the  latter  is  decreasing  rapidly 
in  importance,  and  needed  readjustments  in  the  estimate 
of  their  social  value  are  beginning  to  appear.  But  the 
traditional  estimate  is  still  a  strong  force. 

Finally,  because  of  ignorance  of  the  direct  and  indirect 
injuries  to  others  that  flow  from  intemperance,  or,  more 
accurately,  because  of  an  obstinate  tradition  founded  dur- 
ing the  long  period  when  it  was  believed  that  there  are 
no  such  injurious  consequences,  these  overindulgences  are 
looked  upon  as  mattei-s  of  private  concern,  the  business  of 
nobody  except  the  agent.  It  thus  happens  that  attempts 
to  regulate  eating  and  drinking  habits  run  counter  to  the 
principle  of  privacy,  which  is  undoubtedly  essential  to  self- 
respect,  and  is  especially  well  developed  in  virile  and  self- 
dependent  individuals  and  races.  The  man  of  self-respect 
who  believes,  ignorantly  though  it  be,  that  drunkenness 
is  his  own  affair,  is  not  likely  to  be  patient  of  interference  ; 
1  Oiddingt,  op.  ett.  p.  119  »q. 


280  ETHICS 

and  the  self-respecting  onlooker  who  agrees  with  him  is 
not  likely  to  venture  on  interference.  In  a  word,  an 
essential  constituent  of  morality  gives  its  support,  through 
ignorance,  to  immorality;  self-respect,  whose  importance 
for  morality  has  been  shown,  is  often  ranged  in  support 
of  intemperate  eating  and  drinking  so  long  as  ignorance 
blinds  the  eyes  to  the  social  consequences  of  overindul- 
gence. 

Summing  up,  there  are  four  forces  that  support  the 
strong  appetites  for  food  and  intoxicants :  ignorance  of  the 
effects  on  self  and  others  of  overindulgence ;  the  long  in- 
significance, owing  to  the  scarcity  of  food  and  intoxicants, 
of  whatever  social  injury  is  suffered ;  the  aid  of  festivity 
to  sociability ;  and,  negatively,  the  protest  of  self-respect 
against  interference  with  what  seems  to  be  a  private  mat- 
ter. In  sum,  while  ignorance  and  scant  temptation  long 
obscure  the  social  dangers  of  intemperance,  and  self-respect 
resents  interference,  the  social  value  of  heightened  social 
feeling  is  fully  realized,  and  intemperance  is  on  the  whole 
valued  rather  than  condemned  throughout  a  period  suffi- 
ciently long  to  fix  a  social,  and,  possibly,  a  nascent  neural 
habit,  thus  further  intrenching  appetites  quite  sufficiently 
strong  in  themselves. 

Forces  that  favour  Control  of  the  Food  and  Drink  Appe- 
tites. —  How,  then,  has  it  been  at  all  possible  to  impose  any 
regulation  upon  these  unruly  propensities  ?  A  considera- 
tion of  the  forces  that  make  for  their  control  will  answer 
that  question.  For,  when  all  is  said  that  can  be  to  sub- 
stantiate the  fact  that  the  food  and  drink  appetites  are 
encouraged  to  the  point  of  excess  far  into  civilized  times, 
and  are  not  very  successfully  regulated  even  then,  it  still 
remains  true  that  absolutely  unrestrained  they  never  have 
been.  The  forces  described  have  succeeded  partly  in  balk- 
ing, partly  in  curtailing,  and  partly  in  eluding  regulation, 
but  some  regulation  has  always  existed,  nevertheless. 

At  first,  some  regulation  is  provided  for  by  Nature.    Ex- 


TEMPERANCE  231 

cess  beyond  a  certain  point  satiates  and  disgusts  the  glutton 
and  the  drunkard,  causing  them,  for  the  time  being  at  any 
rate,  to  turn  against  what  tempted  them  so  strongly  before. 
And,  with  the  development  of  sympathy,  this  disgust  is 
transferred  from  the  agent  to  the  onlooker.  In  the  words 
of  Mr.  Stephen,  describing  the  feelings  aroused  by  glut- 
tony :  "  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  sentiment  actually  enter- 
tained for  the  gluttonous  man  ...  is  an  intrinsic  feeling, 
...  a  spasm  of  disgust  which  is  produced  as  directly  as 
the  rising  of  the  gorge  at  any  offensive  object.  The  sight 
of  a  human  hog  revolts  us,  as  we  should  say,  simply 
because  he  is  a  hog,  and  the  smell  of  the  sty  turns  our 
stomaclis."^  And  the  feelings  aroused  by  the  maudlin  and 
the  sot  are  of  the  same  intrinsic  character.  Moreover,  all 
these  feelings  of  repulsion  and  disgust  become  intensified 
with  the  advance  of  civilization  and  refinement,  becoming 
besides  intellectualized  and  refined  in  the  process.  Indeed, 
physical  forces,  e.g.  indigestion  from  overeating,  all  but 
suffice  to  hold  in  check  the  food  appetite. 

And  after  a  time  intelligence  comes  to  the  assistance  of 
instinct.  Soon  it  comes  to  be  appreciated  that  intemper- 
ance weakens  men  physically  and  mentally.  This  insight 
is  formed  very  gradually.  First,  it  is  seen  that  the  man 
who  is  stupid  from  overeating,  or  befuddled  from  wine,  is 
at  the  time  incapacitated  from  the  performance  of  duty; 
and  temperance  is  demanded  of  each  when  at  the  post  of 
duty,  whatever  that  duty  may  be.  The  drunken  outpost 
who  leaves  the  whole  camp  at  the  mercy  of  the  enemy 
is  severely  dealt  with,  if  discovered  in  that  condition  by 
his  superiors.  Later  it  is  seen  that  intemperance  in  time 
saps  vitality,  undermines  the  constitution,  and  diminishes 
power  and  effectiveness  in  nearly  all  directions.  The 
intemperate  individual  is,  in  nearly  all  cases,  weakened 
and  prevented  from  performing  for  his  family,  for  his 
friends,  for  his  business  associates,  and  for  others  to  whom 
»  Op.  at.  p.  200. 


232  ETHICS 

he  owes  them,  the  services  to  which  they  are  entitled  from 
him.  In  a  word,  the  thoroughgoing  physical  and  intel- 
lectual imprudence  of  excesses,  not  only  of  food  and  drink, 
but  of  all  kinds,  is  gradually  realized,  and,  with  the  grow- 
ing appreciation  that  the  strength  and  well-being  of  society 
is  dependent  on  the  strength  and  well-being  of  its  indi- 
vidual members,  any  considerable  prevalence  of  excess  is 
reprobated  as  a  menace  to  the  State  and  a  national  weak- 
ness and  blemish.  No  doubt  even  now  comparatively 
little  in  comparison  with  the  range  of  the  problem  is 
known  of  the  effects  of  excesses  in  the  different  directions, 
but  researches  are  being  prosecuted,  and  the  results  are 
throwing  much-needed  light  on  the  subject.  Especially 
energetic  investigations  are  being  carried  on  with  a  view 
to  determining  the  effects  of  alcohol  and  narcotics. 

And,  in  the  third  place,  it  comes  in  time  to  be  seen  that 
intemperance  is  inconsistent  with  moral  vigour.  At  first 
only  acts  are  approved  and  disapproved,  but,  with  a  wider 
outlook,  it  is  seen  that  the  valuation  of  any  characteristic 
cannot  rest  merely  upon  a  review  of  its  own  effects,  but  is 
in  part  determined  by  the  disposition  in  its  totality  of  the 
men  in  whom  it  appears.  When  this  is  discovered,  it  ap- 
pears that  the  intemperate  man  is,  in  nearly  all  cases,  not 
only  self-indulgent,  but  selfish.  If  his  appetites  are  so 
strong  that  the  rudimentary  precepts  of  prudence  cannot 
control  them,  it  is  not  probable  that  regard  for  the  interests 
of  others  can  influence  him  against  the  solicitations  of  his 
passions.  Though  it  may  be  true  that  he  is  an  enemy  to 
himself  alone,  he  is  also,  as  Mr.  Stephen  points  out,  a 
friend  to  himself  alone.  For  in  general  it  is  true  that  in- 
ordinate development  in  any  direction  is  so  far  a  shrinkage 
in  other  directions.  "  A  man's  love  of  his  bottle  is  so 
much  deducted  from  his  love  of  his  wife  and  children." 
As  fearlessness  may  conflict  with  industry,  sobriety,  and 
kindness,  so  intemperate  appetites  are  so  much  taken  from 
a  man's  interest  in  the  welfare  of  others,  and  in  general  in 


TEMPERANCE  233 

higher  concerns.  These  and  similar  considerations  obtain, 
as  time  goes  on,  an  ever  increasing  influence  over  public 
opinion.  With  the  growing  insight  that  appetites  beyond 
control  are  less  a  private  misfortune  than  a  public  menace, 
the  devourers  of  all  unselfish  interests,  the  plea  of  mis- 
taken self-respect,  that  overindulgence  is  nobody  else's 
business,  is  heard  with  decreasing  patience.  Indeed,  the 
pendulum  is  likely  to  swing  to  the  other  extreme.  Meas- 
ures of  restriction  so  stringent  as  wholly  to  disregard  the 
legitimate  functions  of  the  appetites  are  likely  to  be  advo- 
cated and  pushed  with  an  earnestness  amounting  to  fanati- 
cism. When  first  fully  awakened  to  the  dangerous  egoism 
of  the  appetites,  men  turn  to  the  cold  asceticism  that  calls 
for  renunciation  of  all  desires  and  mortification  of  the 
flesh.  But  before  the  naturalness  and  force  of  this  demand 
can  be  understood,  some  further  considerations  must  be 
discussed. 

For  what  has  so  far  been  said  gives  little  idea  of  the 
impatient  strength  of  the  demand  for  regulation  for  the 
appetites.  And  until  that  fact  and  the  explanation  for  it 
are  understood,  the  heart  of  tlie  problem  of  temperance 
will  remain  dark.  In  fact,  control,  even  repression,  of  the 
appetites  is  uncompromisingly  demanded  with  an  inor- 
dinate insistence  unparalleled  among  the  other  moral 
demands.  So  far  does  this  go  that,  in  ordinary  opinion, 
morality  seems,  and  for  long  has  seemed,  to  centre  about 
the  regulation  of  the  appetites.  If  a  man  is  said  to  be 
immoral,  or  to  be  atldicted  to  vice,  the  first  thought  is,  not 
that  he  is  selfish  and  unkind,  not  that  he  is  dishonest,  un- 
just, and  indifferent  to  the  deeper  aspects  of  public  welfare, 
but  that  he  is  unchaste,  or  unduly  given  to  intemperate 
drinking  or  other  dissolute  practices.  Imperfectly  effective 
and  divided  as  is  the  demand  for  the  regulation  of  the  appe- 
tites, that  notwithstanding  is  the  strongest  demand  that 
conscience  makes.  And  the  same  truth  is  exemplified 
again  both  in  the  strength  and  in  the  direction   of  the 


234  ETHICS 

ascetic  demand  that  has  been  voiced  some  time  in  the 
history  of  each  of  the  world's  leading  peoples.  For  as- 
ceticism is  the  uncompromising  foe  of  the  appetites  —  all 
appetites  are  under  consideration  in  this  paragraph  —  and 
only  of  the  appetites  among  morally  dangerous  tendencies. 
Concerning  itself  little  with  unkindness,  dishonesty,  and 
injustice,  and  practically  not  at  all  with  neglect  of  social  in- 
terests, asceticism  has  concentrated  all  its  batteries  against 
the  one  point  of  attack.  All  of  which  can  be  understood 
only  if  victory  at  that  point  has  been  looked  upon  as 
morality's  chief  concern.  And  indeed  that  is  beyond 
question  the  fact. 

Now  no  little  difficulty  has  been  experienced  in  account- 
ing for  the  importunate  and  seemingly  disproportionate 
strength  of  this  demand.  Utilitarians  especially  "have 
found  a  special  difficulty  in  accounting  for  or  justifying 
the  strength  of  the  prevailing  sentiment,  and  are  some- 
times inclined  to  relax  the  severity  of  the  code."^  And 
indeed  it  does,  at  first  sight,  seems  strange  that  temper^ 
ance  should  be  esteemed  so  much  more  highly  than  other 
virtues,  and  it  is  natural  enough  to  look  upon  the  estimate 
as  unduly  and  disproportionately  high,  as  a  freak  of  nar- 
row and  mistaken,  if  not  unwholesome,  social  opinion. 
For  it  is  plain  to  see  that  the  more  peculiarly  social  virtues, 
like  honesty,  are  much  more  essential  to  social  welfare. 
For  a  minimum  of  each  of  them  is  needed  in  any  society 
if  it  is  not  to  be  disrupted  at  once,  while  a  decidedly  large 
amount  of  intempei-ance  is  compatible  with  social  exist- 
ence, however  injurious  to  individual  well-being. 

But  so  to  view  the  matter  is  to  view  it  superficially. 
Energy  of  opposition  and  determination  to  conquer  de- 
pend upon  two  factors,  not  upon  one.^  The  amount  of 
effort  called  forth  is  determined  partly  by  the  importance 
of  the  undertaking,  but  partly  also  by  its  difficulty,  and 

*  Stephen,  op.  cit.  p.  195. 

*  There  are  more  than  two  factors,  but  no  others  concern  us  here. 


TEMPERANCE  235 

the  gratification  at  success  is  also  largely  dependent 
on  the  difficulties  overcome.  Now  the  appetites  are  the 
strongest  and  most  elusive  foes  of  conscience.  Unduly 
strong  themselves,  they  are  strongly  supported,  as  was  just 
shown.  The  times  and  occasions  of  intemperance  ai-e 
such  that  without  spying  and  intolerable  restrictions  on 
individual  freedom  of  action,  effective  regulative  measures 
are  hard  to  devise ;  in  aiming  at  intemperance  it  is  diffi- 
cult not  to  do  damage  to  important  social  interests.  Be- 
sides, intemperance  is  rarely  solitary  indulgence,  and  the 
intemperate  man  is  assured  of  the  support  of  his  set  of 
boon  companions,  whose  opinion  has  much  influence  over 
him. 

It  is  thus  the  very  difficulty  of  subduing  and  con- 
trolling the  appetites  that  makes  them  the  chosen  foes  of 
morality.  Carrying  off  the  victory  in  numberless  contests, 
it  is  safe  to  say  that  the  appetites  are  not  even  now  sub- 
jected to" anything  like  the  regulation  demanded  by  social 
welfare.  Unkindness  is  requited  in  kind,  and  the  life  of 
the  malevolent  man  is  likely  to  be  unhappy.  Dishonesty 
rarely  prospers  long.  And,  in  civilized  communities, 
injustice  recoils  for  the  most  part  on  the  head  of  the 
unjust  man.  In  these  cases  the  vicious  man  is  reached  by 
the  social  penalties,  and  vice  is  made  on  the  whole  unprof- 
itable. But  a  very  intemperate  man  may  still  hold  his 
head  high,  and  enjoy  a  large  measure  of  social  respect, 
especially  the  respect  of  those  whose  opinion  he  values. 
Most  of  morality's  house  is  set  reasonably  well  in  order, 
bat  in  one  corner  looseness  and  disorganization  prevail  in 
spite  of  repeated  efforts,  and  it  is  but  natural  that  this 
corner  should  call  forth  the  strongest  condemnation  and 
the  most  earnest  efforts  for  betterment.  It  is  natural  that 
conscience  should  give  the  largest  share  of  attention  to 
the  appetites,  and  put  forth  all  endeavour  to  reduce  them 
to  orderly  submission. 

Finally,  a  strong  incentive  to  regulation  is  found  in  the 


236  ETHICS 

aversion  to  loss  of  self-control.  As  in  the  case  last  dis- 
cussed, this  impels  men  to  hold  a  rein  over  all  the  ap- 
petites. But  here  the  drink  appetite  comes  in  for  the 
largest  share  of  attention.  And  this  is  doubly  natural ; 
natural  first  because  intoxication  most  strikingly  exhibits 
loss  of  self-control,  and  natural  secondly  because  the  pleas- 
ure of  self-control  springs  from  the  same  root  as  the  pleas- 
ure of  intoxication,  namely,  from  the  delight  in  heightened 
consciousness.  It  takes  men  many  generations  to  distin- 
guish between  effective  heightened  consciousness  and 
heightened  consciousness  that  loses  in  effectiveness.  It 
is  still  a  mooted  question  whether  the  mind  is  really  brighter 
during  intoxication,  or  whether  the  critical  faculty  is  in 
abeyance  and  the  mind  merely  seems  brighter;  the  inane- 
ness  of  the  intoxicated  to  the  sober  rather  favoui*s  the  latter 
view.  But,  however  that  may  be,  wisdom  has  long  sus» 
pected  and  science  now  teaches  that  intellectual  effective- 
ness does  not  consist  in  a  ready  flow  of  ideas  quite  at 
random,  which  is  the  first  step  towards  incoherence,  but 
in  the  sustained  and  wide-awake  control  of  ideas,  in  the 
marshalling  of  ideas  with  well-defined  purpose.  It  is  of 
course  not  in  this  form  that  the  discrimination  is  made  by 
any  except  psychologists.  In  others  there  is  merely  the 
sense,  imperfectly  analyzed  if  at  all,  of  the  ineffectiveness, 
of  the  un  worthiness,  possibly,  as  among  the  artistic  Greeks, 
of  the  ugly  disproportion  of  uncontrolled  behaviour.  There 
is  a  feeling  that  it  is  unbefitting  for  man  to  play  the  beast, 
by  deadening  his  voluntary  control  and  putting  himself  in 
the  hands  of  mere  unintelligent  propensities.  Those  who 
have  experienced  genuine  self-mastery  value  it  above  all 
things,  and  would  exchange  it  for  no  other  satisfaction. 
By  them,  and  by  others  in  calmer  moments,  any  loss  of 
self-control,  and  especially  anything  as  inconsistent  with 
self-control  as  intoxication,  is  looked  upon  with  grave 
dissatisfaction. 

In  brief  recapitulation  then,  instinct  puts  some  check 


TEMPERANCE  237 

on  the  appetites  for  food  and  intoxicants,  and  intelligence 
points  out  that  they  make,  when  unregulated,  for  physical 
and  mental  injury,  and  further  that,  under  the  same  con- 
dition, they  are  symptomatic  of  an  unawakened  or  of  a 
deadened  moral  nature,  and  moreover  that  they  are  the 
most  formidable  foes  of  conscience  and  must  therefore  be 
subdued,  and  finally  that  unrestrained  appetites  are  incon- 
sistent with  self-control.  Comparing  this  array  of  forces 
with  the  array  before  described  that  is  ranged  on  the 
side  of  the  appetites,  it  is  diflBcult  to  decide  which  is  the 
stronger. 

Or,  more  accurately,  this  is  true  of  the  appetite  for 
intoxicants,  on  which  a  further  word  will  be  said  pres- 
ently. For  the  food  appetite  is  not  especially  unruly 
among  civilized  men.  It  is  a  rather  gross  appeal  of  the 
physical  nature,  which  no  idealism  can  easily  disguise,  and 
the  many  exciting  interests  of  complex  modern  life  have 
without  difficulty  outrivalled  it.  So  far  does  this  go  that 
the  modern  error  is  indifference  to  sufficient  and  especially 
to  proper  food,  rather  than  undue  indulgence  in  food. 
Besides,  food  consumption  is  chiefly  a  matter  of  prudence, 
since  overeating  has  little  effect  on  othere,  affecting  them 
in  the  way  of  failure  of  service  rather  than  in  the  way  of 
positive  injury,  and  some  substitute  for  the  services  of  the 
glutton  can  generally  be  obtained.  For  ethical  purposes 
the  food  appetite  falls  back  into  the  mass  of  desires,  and 
is  regulated  on  much  the  same  principles  as  they  are,  sup- 
plemented by  the  suggestions  of  hunger,  good  manners, 
and  hygiene. 

But  with  the  drink  appetite  it  is  otherwise.  All  the 
forces  described  have  been  arrayed  on  either  side,  and  the 
short  conflict,  in  part  because  it  has  been  short,  has  been 
as  intense  as  indecisive.  Some  believe  that  this  appetite  ia 
too  much  regulated,  others  that  it  is  too  little  regulated. 
Few,  if  any,  are  satisfied  with  the  modes  of  regulation  so  far 
(levised.     And  the  reasons  for  this  unsettled  and  conflict- 


238  ETHICS 

iiig  state  of  opinion  must  by  this  time  be  apparent.  The 
problem  is  more  intricate  than  is  generally  supposed,  and 
only  one  of  its  sides  is  as  a  rule  seen  by  each  of  the  con- 
tending parties  ;  they  are  like  the  knights  of  the  fable, 
neither  of  whom  saw  the  side  of  the  shield  seen  by  the 
other.  One  party  forgets  that  by  social  custom  nearly  as 
old  as  mankind,  a  large  part  of  sociability  is  grouped 
about  drinking,  and  besides  that  in  regulating  drinking,  it 
is  very  difficult  not  unduly  to  encroach  upon  important 
individual  rights.  The  other  side  forgets  that  drinking 
easily  runs  into  excess,  and  that,  when  it  does  so,  it  is 
productive  of  social  damage  both  in  the  form  of  positive 
aggression  on  the  part  of  the  agent,  and  negatively  thmHgh 
impairment  of  his  effectiveness  and  self-control. 

This  stubborn  conflict  of  views  could  naturally  have  but 
one  result.  Instead  of  a  united  public  opinion  upholding 
a  well-defined  scheme  of  conduct,  practically  every  man 
has  been  able  to  find  whatever  views  he  held,  and  what- 
ever behaviour  he  practised,  sustained  by  an  imposing 
body  of  opinion.  The  standards  upheld  in  practice  have 
been  so  many  and  so  various  that  there  has  in  fact  been 
no  standard,  and  men  have  been  compelled  in  the  con- 
fusion to  trust  to  their  unassisted  judgments.  At  least 
this  was  true  until  nearly  the  middle  of  the  nineteenth 
century.  Since  then  opinions  have  shown  a  tendency  to 
crystallize  along  fairly  well-defined  lines.  But  the  time 
has  been  too  short  to  trace  those  lines  clearly  or  to  give 
assurance  that  they  are  definitely  settled  upon.  Such 
indications  as  can  be  gathered  by  a  careful  survey  will  be 
suggested  in  the  next  section,  and  meantime  an  account 
will  be  given  of  the  history  of  opinion  with  regard  to  the 
third  primary  appetite,  for  it  has  been  more  successfully 
regulated,  and  the  measures  adopted  to  that  end  will  throw 
important  side  lights  on  the  regulation  of  the  drink  ap- 
petite. 

Regulation  of  the  Reproductive  Appetite.  —  The  reasons 


TEMPERANCE  239 

that  explain  the  better  regulation  of  the  sexual  appetite, 
in  spite  of  its  being  stronger  and  more  persistent  than  tlie 
drink  appetite,  will  repay  a  moment's  attention.  In  gen- 
eral these  reasons  may  be  summed  up  in  the  statement 
that  the  forces  that  oppose  regulation  are  weaker  and  the 
forces  that  impose  regulation  are  stronger  than  in  the  case 
of  the  drink  appetite.  Ignorance  and  mistaken  self-respect 
do  not  stand  aggressively  in  the  way  of  regulating  sexual 
relations,  for  their  social  consequences  are  evident  even  to 
savages.  Besides,  the  need  of  proper  regulation  has  existed 
and  has  been  appreciated,  not  only  for  a  few  generations, 
but  throughout  human  history,  and  it  is  but  natural  that 
some  definite  rules  and  some  well-established  social  devices 
have  come  to  be  settled  upon.  And,  while  sexual  relations 
are  more  important  to  society,  being  for  one  thing  essen- 
tial to  its  perpetuation,  this  fact  may  have  made  regulation 
easier  rather  than  more  difficult,  by  preventing  mistaken 
attempts  to  suppress  mating  altogether.^  And,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  forces  that  make  for  control  of  this  appe- 
tite are  stronger  than  in  the  case  last  considered.  Several 
instinctive  checks,  e.g.  modesty  and  jealousy,  surround 
the  mating  tendency.  If  tlie  impairment  of  physical  and 
mental  health  and  vigour  by  excess  is  not  so  evident,  the 
social  consequences,  especially  where  children  are  brought 
into  the  world  to  be  neglected,  are  abundantly  plain.  The 
inconsistency  of  sexual  excesses  with  moral  vigour  is  very 
marked.  The  unruly  strength  of  the  appetite  has  always 
aroused  conscience  to  its  utmost  endeavour.  And  undue 
indulgence  brings  self-control  into  great  danger.  Besides, 
from  the  beginning  of  settled  industry  until  quite  recently, 
fathers  profited  by  the  labour  of  their  legitimate  children, 
thus  furnishing  another  strong  incentive  for  living  in  the 
lawful   wedded  state.     Of  all  these  forces  the  most  per- 

'  Such  attempts  have  never  been  made.  Even  when  asceticism  has 
been  at  its  height,  celibacy  and  chastity  have  be«n  considered  "  counsels 
of  perfection,"  applicable  only  to  the  few. 


240  ETHICS 

sistently  influential  has  been  the  evident  social  importance 
of  well-regulated  sexual  relations.  Healthy  social  senti- 
ment has  always  realized  that  the  welfare  of  the  state  is 
fundamentally  dependent  on  wholesome  family  relations. 
No  doubt  this  sentiment  has  had  more  concern  with  and 
effect  on  women,  but  its  influence  over  men  has  not  been 
inconsiderable. 

Though  described  last,  the  regulation  of  the  sexual 
appetite  was  the  first  to  be  undertaken.  As  courage  first 
picked  out  the  inordinately  strong  aversion  to  physical 
suffering  and  danger,  so  temperance  first  picked  ojrt  this 
inordinately  strong  appetite.  And  in  the  latter  case^Sn 
the  former,  the  first  regulations  were  few  and  simple,  and 
were  based  upon  instinctive  modes  of  control.  Among 
the  higher  animals  there  is  some  repugnance  to  mating 
within  the  family  group,  and  this  repugnance,  at  first 
entirely  and  always  largely  physical,  when  inherited  by 
man,  was  the  basis  of  the  reprobation  of  marriage  within 
the  family,  and  later  within  the  clan.  Aside  from  this 
restriction,  the  only  primitive  requirement  seems  to  have 
been  a  brief  fidelity,  covering  probably  the  two  years 
measured  in  either  direction  from  the  birth  of  the  off- 
spring. So  much  fidelity  and  more  can  be  found  among 
some  higher  apes,  and  no  doubt  a  brief  fidelity  was  instinc- 
tive with  primitive  man.  Out  of  this  primitive  condition 
there  gradually  developed  the  later  forms  of  marriage, 
relative  promiscuity  giving  place  in  turn  to  polyandry, 
polygyny,  and  monogamy.  Aside  from  the  existence  of 
the  four  main  forms  of  marriage,  and  their  probable  order, 
there  is  little  settled  knowledge  on  the  subject,  our  igno- 
rance being  especially  dense  with  regard  to  the  causes  that 
are  responsible  for  the  transition  from  any  form  to  the  next. 
But  it  seems  probable  that  some  races  have  skipped  polyan- 
diy,  and  it  is  known  that  only  the  highest  have  attained 
to  monogamy,  and  that  even  among  them  the  monogamy 
practised  is  far  from  being  perfect.     In  general  it  may  be 


TEMPERANCE  241 

said  that  the  history  of  marriage  reveals  a  stubborn  strug- 
gle to  secure  the  efficient  protection  and  guidance  of  its 
father  for  the  child,  both  directly,  and  indirectly  by  such 
care  and  support  for  the  mother  as  will  allow  her  main 
energies  to  be  devoted  to  its  welfare.  A  large  body 
of  laws  and  social  rules  and  customs  cooperate  in  seeking 
this  end,  the  main  method  being  the  establishment  of 
permanent  and  happy  unions  between  wedded  pairs,  thus 
assuring  the  well-adjusted  cooperation  of  both  parents  for 
the  bringing  up  of  their  children.  These  laws  and  rules 
will  be  described  in  the  next  section. 

§  3.  The  Virtue  of  Temperance 
Some  Objective  Rules.  —  The  last  section  was  mainly  con- 
cerned with  the  difficulty  of  the  problem  of  temperance, 
but  incidentally  it  discovered  some  objective  rules  for  the 
regulation  of  the  appetites.  Chief  among  these  is  the  rule 
condemning  loss  of  self-control.  No  doubt  this  rule  was 
unknown  in  early  days,  and  even  now  it  is  very  frequently 
broken.  But  significant  is  the  fact  that  it  is  conceived  with 
increasing  clearness  and  enforced  with  increasing  assurance 
in  proportion  as  men  grow  in  appreciation  of  the  central 
r81e  played  by  well-poised  intelligence.  That  man  is 
admittedly  intemperate  who,  instead  of  mastering,  is  mas- 
tered by  his  desires,  and  a  nation  composed  in  any  large 
measure  of  such  men  is  frequently  distracted  by  outbursts 
of  popular  caprice. 

At  first  sight  it  may  appear  that  the  prescription  of  self- 
control  is  wholly  a  matter  of  subjective  morality,  for  it 
seems  to  require  no  more  than  that  passion  should  not  be 
allowed  to  confuse  or  silence  the  voice  of  conscience. 
But  while  the  rule  is  founded  on  the  familiar  injunction, 
"  Follow  your  conscience,"  and  thereby  gains  the  highest 
authority,  this  injunction  does  not  adequately  express 
the  rule ;  in  some  cases  the  rule  may  reasonably  demand 
change  of  conscience,  and  behaviour  that  conscience  has  not 


242  ETHICS 

theretofore  required.  For  the  further  fact,  that  evenr 
conscientious  men  often  forget  or  fail  to  reckon  with,  is^ 
that  all  strong  passions  tend,  if  indulged  without  restraint, 
both  to  intoxicate  and  to  get  a  hold  on  their  victims^ 
past  shaking  off,  in  either  case  impairing  self-control.  Of 
course  the  tendency  to  intoxication  is  strongest  in  case  of 
the  passion  for  strong  drink,  but  this,  as  well  as  the  ten- 
dency to  settle  into  fixed  habit,  is  characteristic  of  all 
passionate  indulgence.  In  the  interest  of  the  maintenance 
of  self-control  there  are,  therefore,  two  rules  of  objective 
morality.  (1)  At  no  time  indulge  an  appetite  to  the 
point  of  intoxication.  (2)  Indulge  no  appetite  so  fre- 
quently and  freely  as  to  form  an  uncontrollable  habit. 
These  are  rules  of  objective  morality  because  the  virtuous 
man  would  observe  them,  or,  negatively,  any  man  who 
breaks  them  in  so  far  fails  of  morality.  Of  course  some 
breaches  are  far  more  serious  than  others.  Their  serious- 
ness depends,  in  fact,  on  several  factors;  in  case  of  the 
first  rule,  among  other  things,  on  the  social  office  of  the 
culprit  and  the  importance  at  the  time  of  self-possession ; 
in  the  case  of  the  second  rule  on  the  social  damage  done 
by  the  habit,  nail-biting,  for  instance,  being  trivial  as  com- 
pared with  gluttony.  But  any  breach  of  either  rule  is  in 
some  measure  a  moral  blemieh.  For  the  rules  are  firmly 
based,  resting  on  the  authority  of  the  central  injunction  of 
obedience  to  conscience,  reenforced  by  an  appreciation, 
that  has  grown  with  the  growth  of  wisdom,  of  the  incom- 
parable importance  of  self-control. 

Another  objective  rule  that  is  mainly  popular,  though 
it  has,  besides,  the  high  authority  of  Aristotle,  is  very  simi- 
lar in  practice  to  the  first  above  mentioned.  This  is  the 
rule  that  disapproves  of  both  excess  and  defect,  but 
approves  of  the  golden  mean  of  indulgence.  It  is  as  dis- 
approving of  excess  that  it  is  similar  to,  though  less  exact, 
as  commonly  interpreted,  than  the  first  rule.  In  fact,  the 
rule  of  the  golden  mean  is,  depending  on  its  interpretation^ 


TEMPERANCE  248 

either  too  rigid  for  so  complex  a  problem,  or  too  vague 
to  give  useful  guidance,  and  in  either  case  is  misleading 
besides.  Of  course  the  word  "  mean  "  is  a  mathematical 
term  used  to  designate  the  exact  mid-point  between  two 
quantitative  extremes.  And  with  that  meaning  in  mind, 
Aristotle,  and  he  alone,  undertook  to  define  virtuous 
conduct  as  that  which  observes  the  mean.  But  he  was 
too  clear-sighted  to  hold  to  this  definition,  being  compelled 
by  the  facts  to  admit  a  number  of  exceptions,  as  notably 
in  the  case  of  unduly  strong  propensities,  when  virtuous 
indulgence  is  declared  to  edge  away  from  the  mean  towards 
defect.  And,  in  general  practice,  all  attempt  at  mathe- 
matical exactness  has  been  abandoned,  and  all  that  has 
been  demanded  is  that  no  natural  tendency  should  be 
indulged  either  too  much  or  too  little.  In  short,  the 
attempt  to  regulate  the  appetites  on  an  exact  mathemati- 
cal or  quantitative  basis  has  broken  down.  And  the  reason 
of  the  breakdown,  as  will  presently  appear,  is  to  be  found 
in  the  fact  that  proper  indulgence  of  the  appetites  cannot 
be  adequately  described  in  terms  of  "  too  much  "  and  "  too 
little,"  for  it  is  rather  a  question  of  when,  where,  how,  and 
with  whom.  When  standing  alone,  the  rule  of  the  golden 
mean  is  accordingly  misleading  in  overemphasizing  quan- 
titative considerations,  and  in  thus  withdrawing  attention 
from  the  more  important  considerations  of  time,  place, 
manner,  and  company.^  But  when  regard  is  had  to  those 
considerations,  the  rule,  as  assistant  to  the  two  above  set 
down,  has  a  rough  practical  utility. 

Further  Procedure.  —  In  fact,  among  all  peoples  the 
time,  place,  manner,  and  company  in  which  desires  are 
indulged  have  been  more  seriously  considered  than  degree 
or  frequency  of  indulgence ;    in  part  for  the  reason,  no 

*  Aristotle  recognizes  the  importance  of  time,  place,  manner,  and  com- 
pany, Nik.  Eth.,  Bk.  II,  Chs.  V  and  VI,  but  he  does  not  develop  the 
thought,  or  bring  these  factors  into  connection  with  the  mean,  which  is 
central  for  him. 


244  ETHICS 

doubt,  that  the  former  largely  determine  the  latter.  This 
is  best  illustrated  in  the  matter  of  marriage,  and  of  the 
many  rules  and  customs  governing  eating,  though  a  little 
observation  will  disclose  a  similar  state  of  facts  in  regard 
to  the  regulation  of  other  appetites  and  desires.  But, 
while  regulation  in  the  four  respects  mentioned  exists 
among  all  peoples,  the  regulations  differ  widely,  and  some 
criterion  is  needed  for  selecting  a  body  of  rules  that  shall 
form  a  basis  upon  which  may  be  built  up  the  structure  of 
objective  morality.  The  most  promising  plan  here,  as  else- 
where in  the  discussion  of  difficult  problems,  is  to  proceed 
from  the  known  to  the  unknown,  to  study  first  what  is 
clear  and  plain,  and,  with  the  results  thereby  obtained  in 
hand,  to  pass  to  more  obscure  fields. 

Under  this  plan  the  first  step  is  easily  taken.  For  the 
last  section  has  shown  that  the  sexual  appetite  is  better 
regulated  than  any  other.  No  doubt  the  rules  so  far 
devised  are  imperfect  and  are  often  disregarded.  But 
there  is  a  well-settled  body  of  opinion  on  the  subject,  and 
it  would  be  impossible  elsewhere  in  the  field  of  temperance 
to  discover  a  better  basis  on  which  to  build  a  sound  and 
adequate  view.  Some  objective  basis  must  be  had,  for, 
when  unsupported,  individual  views  and  suggestions  are 
wayward  and  without  authority. 

Monogamy.  —  Nor  is  it  difficult  to  decide  which  system 
of  sexual  regulation  is  the  highest,  which  of  the  existing 
systems  is  most  largely  contributory  to  social  welfare. 
The  system  of  monogamy  is  universally  approved  and 
more  or  less  faithfully  practised  by  the  races  and  nations 
that  lead  in  vitality  and  welfare,  while  the  other  systems 
obtain  only  among  inferior  peoples.  It  is,  of  course,  easy 
to  underestimate  other  peoples  and  to  overestimate  our 
own,  and  it  is  necessary  to  be  on  our  guard  in  passing 
comparative  judgments.  But  in  the  case  under  considera- 
tion there  can  be  no  room  for  reasonable  doubt.  It  is  a 
fact  attested  by  the  most  deliberate  and  sober  judgment 


TEMPERANCE  245 

that  every  conspicuously  prosperous  nation  is  monoga- 
mous, while  no  non-monogamous  nation  or  tribe  enjoys 
any  marked  degree  of  welfare. 

And  the  significance  of  this  striking  fact  is  emphasized 
by  the  close  dependence  of  welfare  on  healthy  family 
relations.  It  would  not  do,  for  instance,  to  argue  from 
national  prosperity  back  to  artistic  excellence.  For,  while 
artistic  achievement  is  a  valuable  component  of  welfare,  it 
is  not  in  the  same  intimate  sense  an  essential  precondition 
of  welfare.  In  ancient  Greece,  for  instance,  the  fine  arts 
flourished  in  unsurpassed  beauty  when  the  state  was  cor- 
rupted and  on  the  verge  of  dissolution.  And,  on  the 
other  hand,  some  of  the  modern  peoples  distinguished  for 
their  well-being  are  far  from  being  conspicuous  for  their 
artistic  achievements.  Without  discussing  further  the 
conditions  and  components  of  welfare  —  a  subject  to  be 
considered  in  a  subsequent  chapter,  to  which  the  reader  is 
referred  —  it  will  no  doubt  be  admitted  without  question 
that  a  healthy  family  life  is  essential  to  national  pros- 
perity, and  conversely  that  the  highest  attained  degree  of 
well-being  is  a  sign  that  points  back  to  a  family  system 
that,  in  its  main  outlines  at  least,  is  the  highest  and  best 
80  far  devised.  In  short,  monogamy  may  be  confidently 
accepted  as  the  highest  form  of  family  life,^  and  thus  as 
the  embodiment  of  the  rules  of  sexual  temperance  that 
would  be  observed  by  the  virtuous  man. 

It  is  even  possible  to  go  a  step  farther  and  suggest  the 
reasons  for  the  superiority  of  monogamy.  It  is  mainly  in 
two  ways  that  marriage  can  contribute  to  social  welfare : 

1  And  as  the  best  for  civilized  peoples  where  the  sexes  are  equal  in 
numbers,  and  where  intelligent  sanitation  and  education  make  it  possible 
to  rear  most  children  to  efficient  maturity.  Where,  on  the  other  hand, 
one  sex  is  much  more  numerous  than  the  other,  infant  mortality  is  hiph, 
and  education  is  inefficient,  it  is  necessary  to  trust  to  the  large  number 
of  offspring  and  to  the  weeding  out  by  natural  selection,  rather  than  to 
efficient  offspring,  and  non-monogamous  forms  of  marriage  may  be  better 
adapted  to  the  conditions. 


246  ETHICS 

first,  and  most  notably,  by  preparing  children  to  become 
efficient  members  of  society;  secondly,  by  securing  to 
husbands  and  wives  a  sheltered  and  peaceful  haven  in 
which  to  prepare  themselves  for  their  social  duties.  And 
the  contributions  of  monogamy  in  both  directions  are 
much  greater  than  those  of  any  other  marriage  system. 
As  to  the  first,  it  is  plain  than  the  important  task  of  bring- 
ing up  children  who  shall  be  healthy  in  body,  mind,  and 
spirit  is  best  fulfilled  by  intelligent  and  self-respecting 
fathers  and  mothers  working  together  in  harmony.  Under 
polyandry  the  father  is  subordinate  to  the  mother's  uncles 
and  brothers,  and  the  children  are  subject  to  their  indif- 
ferent care  and  divided  authority.  At  the  other  extreme 
polygyny  degrades  mothers,  consuming  their  indepen- 
dence in  the  fierce  fire  of  harem  rivalries,  dulling  their 
abilities  in  slothful  inactivity,  repressing  their  intelligence 
for  fear  of  revolt  —  in  short,  rendering  them  in  every  way 
unfit  to  take  part  in  the  care  and  education  of  their 
children.  And,  of  course,  any  deflection  from  genuine 
monogamy  has  similar  effects ;  every  pseudo-family  en- 
tanglement so  far  detracts  from  a  parent's  interest  in  the 
genuine  family.  And,  on  the  other  hand,  while  monog- 
amy cannot  give,  it  can  and  does  in  most  cases  foster 
rather  than  repress,  parental  intelligence,  self-respect,  and 
love  for  children.  It  is  far  from  rendering  parental  har- 
mony impossible,  and  often  is  the  basis  of  the  very  highest 
examples  of  mutual  affection  and  intelligent  cooperation. 
And  besides  it  has  played  a  large  part  in  sweetening, 
civilizing,  and  purifying  life  even  outside  of  the  family 
circle. 

And,  in  the  second  place,  monogamy  gives  the  best 
opportunity  for  a  happy,  well-ordered,  and  healthy  family 
life,  if  not  indeed  the  best  basis  for  a  satisfactory  life 
from  all  points  of  view.  Only  with  monogamy  does  the 
home  come  into  the  world,  and  no  other  institution  is 
more  valued  or  has  done  more  for  mankind.     Under  no 


TEMPERANCE  247 

•other  head  is  it  possible  to  include  so  large  and  varied 
au  array  of  deep-seated  human  satisfactions.  It  goes  with- 
out saying  that  many  homes  are  unhappy  and  ill-regulated. 
But  it  is  equally  true  that  the  number  of  homeless  men  and 
women  who  have  found  happiness  is  relatively  so  small  as 
to  be  negligible.  The  monogamous  home  does  not  insure 
happiness,  but  without  it  happiness  is  all  but  impossible. 
Moreover,  happy  parents  give  the  most  wholesome  educa- 
tion. They  set  their  children  daily  examples  of  willing 
cooperation,  surround  them  with  a  sunny  atmosphere  of 
intelligent  self-sacrifice,  and  in  general  typify  for  them 
the  highest  social  activities.  In  giving  parents  their  best 
chance  for  efficiency  and  happiness,  monogamy  gives  chil- 
dren their  best  chance  for  wholesome  education. 

§  4.     Description  of  Monogamy 

Passing  next  to  a  description  of  the  monogamous  sys- 
tem, it  is  well  to  remark  at  the  outset  that  it  is  much 
more  complex  that  is  generally  appreciated.  Its  general 
features  are  of  course  familiar :  premarital  chastity,  fidel- 
ity of  both  spouses,  support,  and  in  general  protection  of 
the  wife  by  the  husband,  with  appropriate  behaviour  (at 
present  very  ill-defined)  on  the  part  of  the  wife  in  return 
for  the  support  and  protection  received.  Of  the  four 
fidelity  and  premarital  chastity  are  much  the  most  impor- 
tant, being  indeed  the  distinguishing  marks  of  monogamy. 
Support  and  protection  by  the  husband  is  due,  partly  be- 
cause of  his  industrial  training,  but  chiefly  because  child- 
bearing  and  rearing  incapacitate  mothers  for  self-support 
during  long  periods  in  the  prime  of  their  life.  And  some 
fitting  return  on  the  part  of  wives  is  evidently  called 
for.i     But  these  four  principles,  even  if  fully  described, 

*  In  this  chapter  the  mnnogamous  system  is  being  described  only  in  so 
far  as  it  regulates  the  relations  of  husbands  and  wives.  In  the  chapter 
on  justice  a  few  words  will  be  devoted  to  the  duties  of  parenta  to  chil- 
dren and  of  children  to  parents. 


248  ETHICS 

would  only  sketch  in  the  system  in  its  broadest  outlines. 
For  in  addition  there  are  countless  laws  and  social  rules 
and  customs  that  define,  hedge  about,  and  protect  the  insti- 
tution of  monogamy.  While  only  a  few  of  these  can  be 
briefly  described  here,  the  chapter  would  be  too  incom- 
plete if  that  much  were  not  undertaken.  For  convenience 
and  clearness  these  laws,  rules,  and  customs  will  be  de- 
scribed under  two  heads,  the  first  including  those  regulat- 
ing the  conduct  of  unmarried  men  and  women,  the  second 
those  regulating  the  conduct  of  husbands  and  wives. 

The  Regulations  governing  the  Unmarried.  —  The  first 
group  of  regulations  aims  at  preserving  the  chastity  of  the 
unmarried.  The  most  obvious  means  employed  for  that 
purpose  is  the  very  severe  condemnation  of  unchastity, 
and  even  of  conduct  that  leaves  the  question  in  doubt. 
The  young  man,  and  especially  the  young  woman,  who 
consents  to  be  placed  in  situations  where  virtue  might 
well  be  lost  or  even  seriously  endangered,  does  so  at  the 
sacrifice  of  reputation  or  good  name,  and  of  all  that  is  lost 
with  reputation.  But  here,  as  elsewhere  in  serious  mat- 
ters, prevention  is  much  more  effective  than  punishment. 
"  A  code  of  manners  has  been  evolved,  none  the  less  coer- 
cive because  it  is  unwritten,  which  expresses  the  monog- 
amous ideal  with  a  measure  of  sway  over  personal 
conduct  that  depends  on  the  level  of  refinement  reached 
by  each  social  circle.  In  its  most  developed  form  this 
code  enjoins  a  certain  reserve  of  behaviour  in  all  inter- 
course between  the  sexes,  an  avoidance  of  every  word  or 
sign  that  could  by  any  possible  construction  be  thought 
to  suggest  or  favour  irregular  relations.  The  virtue  of 
modesty,  which  in  this  sense  is,  theoretically  at  least,  appli- 
cable to  both  sexes  alike,  is  cultivated  as  a  guaranty  of 
chastity.^     Society  realizes  that  the  stream  of   passion  is 

^Int.  Jour,  of  Eth.,  April,  1899,  "The  Relations  of  the  Sexes,"  by  J. 
Oliphant.  What  follows  in  the  text  contains  in  different  words  several 
ideas  suggested  by  this  article.     This  footnote  may  be  utilized  to  say  a 


TEMPERANCE  249 

strong  if  it  gets  under  headway,  and  that  the  only  safe 
general  plan  to  adopt  is  to  check  it  at  its  source  in  sug- 
gestive situation,  act,  or  word. 

Equally  as  important  as  premarital  chastity  is  stability 
of  the  marriages  that  come  to  be  contracted.  And  while 
many  conditions  must  be  fulfilled  in  order  to  attain  that 
end,  the  principal  among  them  may  without  violence  be 
grouped  under  two  heads,  for,  first,  the  spouses  must  be 
really  congenial  or  have  characters  that  will  permanently 
appeal  each  to  the  other,  and,  secondly,  they  must  be 
suitable  or  be  so  circumstanced  financially,  socially,  and  in 
other  external  ways  that  friction  in  their  married  life  will 
be  minimized.  Neglecting  for  the  present  the  second  con- 
dition, it  is  evident  that  whether  congenial  or  incompati- 
ble men  and  women  come  to  marry  each  other  depends  in 
large  part  on  the  premarital  relations  of  the  sexes  and  the 
ways  in  which  marriages  are  contracted.  And  in  fact  there 
are  many  rules  and  conventions  regulating  these  relations 
as  well  as  the  mode  of  forming  conjugal  unions.  The 
second  group  of  regulations  seeks  for  favour  and  encourage- 
ment, conduct  that  leads  to  congenial  marriages. 

Among  these  regulations  may  be  mentioned  those  per- 
mitting and  encouraging  social  gatherings  including  un- 
married  persons  of  both  sexes,  and  in  general   allowing 

word  on  the  fact  intimated  by  Mr.  Oliphant,  that  chastity  is  valued  more 
highly,  and  unchastity  condemned  more  severely,  in  women  than  in  men. 
The  fact  deserves  frank,  clear-headed,  and  unprejudiced  consideration, 
but  it  cannot  well  be  taken  up  within  the  limits  of  a  text-book.  Two 
points  may,  however,  be  mentioned.  First,  men  cannot  easily  be  shielded 
from  temptation  to  incontinence  without  interfering  with  the  indepen- 
dence and  initiative  that  is  of  fundamental  importance  for  them.  Sec- 
ondly, child-bearing  and  rearing  is  literally  the  business  of  most  women's 
lives,  and,  if  uncha.ste  or  unfaithful,  they  cannot  perform  this  life  work 
properly,  because  they  cannot  then  claim  the  protection  and  support  of 
their  children's  fathers  ;  the  unoha.'^te  woman  runs  a  much  greater  risk 
of  making  her  life  a  total  failure  than  does  the  unchaste  man.  There  is 
less  excuse  for  the  unchaste  woman  than  for  the  unchaste  man,  but  both 
are  immoral.     Cf.  Sidgwick,  Meth.  of  Elh.,  Bk.  IV,  Ch.  UI,  §  6. 


250  ETHICS 

young  men  and  women  to  meet  with  well-regulated  free- 
dom and  share  together  their  enjoyments,  their  discussions, 
and  their  other  interests.  This  free  social  intercourse  gives 
young  people  a  wide  personal  acquaintance  with  marriage- 
able members  of  the  opposite  sex,  and  allows  them  to  make 
their  selection  on  the  basis  of  such  experience  and  knowl- 
edge as  are  permitted  by  their  capacities.  Less  than  a 
generation  ago  the  interests  shared  in  common  were  almost 
exclusively  frivolous,  such  as  dancing  for  example,  but  now 
they  are  coming  to  include  healthy  outdoor  sports,  intel- 
lectual and  artistic  pursuits,  and  even  practical  business 
enterprises.  And  evidently  the  more  objective  the  interests 
that  are  shared,  the  more  is  character  disclosed,  and  the 
better  basis  is  there  for  intelligent  choice. 

Another  body  of  regulations  with  the  same  aim  seeks  to 
attain  it  by  insisting  on  a  reasonable  delay  between  first 
acquaintance  and  marriage,  with  the  evident  purpose  of 
making  the  final  decision  as  deliberate  and  well-considered 
as  possible.  Condemnation  of  overhasty  marriages  in  part 
accomplishes  the  end  sought,  but  a  more  effective  means 
is  found  in  the  convention  of  courtship,  a  social  adaptation 
of  the  instinct  of  coyness,  which  has  the  advantage  of  re- 
placing punishment  by  prevention.  The  following  account 
of  courtship  is  taken  from  Mr.  Oliphant's  article  already 
referred  to :  "  Although  this  institution  is  found  through- 
out a  great  part  of  the  animal  kingdom,  and  has  a  natural 
origin  in  what  Darwin  has  termed  '  the  greater  eagerness 
of  the  male,'  it  has  in  human  societies  gained  a  peculiar 
importance  as  a  means  of  conveying  social  pressure.  What 
was  in  the  beginning  the  comparative  indifference  of  the 
female  in  the  choice  of  a  mate  has  been  transformed  into 
maidenly  coyness,  a  quality  to  which  there  has  been  gradu- 
ally and  unconsciously  assigned  a  highly  significant  social 
function.  Coyness  is  something  quite  distinct  from  mod- 
esty in  the  sense  in  which  it  has  been  used  above.  It  is 
a  somewhat  inadequate  name  to  express  the  fact  that  to 


TEMPERANCE  251 

women  has  been  granted  the  right  to  the  final  word  in  the 
«xpression  of  personal  preference,  and  therefore  that  they 
have  been  constituted  the  guardians  of  dignified  behaviour 
in  the  preliminaries  of  marriage.  Public  opinion  has 
turned  this  opportunity  to  account  by  imposing  a  standard 
•of  manners  which  has  the  practical  effect  of  delaying  de- 
cision, and  thus  securing  some  guaranty  against  a  hasty 
and  ill-judged  assortment." 

It  may  be  said  further  regarding  the  second  group  of 
regulations  that  mixed  social  gatherings  and  courtship 
allow,  and  serve  their  purpose  only  if  they  allow,  the  free 
choice  of  the  contracting  parties  to  play  the  leading  rSle 
in  the  selection  of  conjugal  partners.  It  is  not  considered 
either  possible  or  proper  to  allow  young  people  to  see  each 
other  freely,  and  then  to  pay  no  respect  to  the  attachments 
that  naturally  result.  In  fact  where  they  are  thrown  to- 
gether the  more  or  less  conscious  purpose  is  to  give  them 
opportunities  to  form  attachments,  and  this  course  is  pur- 
sued because  it  is  believed  that  there  will  be  more  con- 
geniality, and  consequently  more  chance  for  constancy, 
harmony,  and  content  when  marriage  is  based  on  uncon- 
strained liking  and  choice. 

It  may  also  be  said  of  the  second  group  of  regulations 
that  many  people  think  it  is  diflBcult  to  reconcile  with  the 
first  group.  For  they  conceive  that  freedom  of  association 
between  the  sexes  is  too  likely  to  diminish  modesty  and 
seriously  to  endanger  chastity.  On  this  point  there  is 
much  difference  of  opinion,  and  the  difference  of  opinion 
is  reflected  by  the  notable  difference  between  the  etiquette 
of  mixed  social  gatherings  and  of  courtship  in  England, 
the  United  States,  and  the  British  colonies  on  the  one 
hand,  and  in  Germany,  France,  and  Spain  on  the  other 
hand.  No  doubt  the  differences  of  opinion  are  founded, 
in  part  at  least,  on  differences  of  racial  temperament, 
chaste  self-restraint  being  all  but  impossible  for  some  races 
in  situations  where  it  would  not  present  very  serious  diffi- 


252  ETHICS 

culties  for  other  races.  But,  however  that  may  be,  social 
conventions  seek  to  allow  as  free  association  and  courtship 
as  are  thought  to  be  consistent  with  the  maintenance  of 
feminine  chastity.  The  aims  seem  to  be,  first,  to  prevent 
sociability  between  unmarried  men  and  women  from  en- 
dangering chastity,  or  even  the  modesty  which  is  its  safe- 
guard, and  secondly,  to  prevent  exaggerated  modesty, 
reserve,  and  protection  from  degenerating  into  prudery, 
stiffness,  and  seclusion,  and  thus  rendering  impossible  the 
friendly  acquaintance  and  wholesome  experience  that  is 
the  basis  of  a  wise  selection. 

The  mating  of  pairs  who  are  suitable  in  financial  and 
social  position  and  in  other  external  respects  is  the  aim  of 
a  third  group  of  regulations.  And,  unlike  congeniality, 
which  can  best  be  passed  upon  by  the  interested  pair  them- 
selves, suitability,  because  it  has  to  do  with  relatively 
objective  and  impersonal  facts,  can  best  be  passed  upon 
by  unprejudiced  onlookera  with  as  wide  and  deep  a  knowl- 
edge of  the  world  as  possible.  Social  opinion  accordingly 
deprecates  too  curious  an  inquiry  into  prudential  considera- 
tions on  the  part  of  the  former,  considering  that  it  shows 
an  unadmirably  calculating  and  worldly  spirit.  But,  on  the 
other  hand,  it  requires  the  experienced  friends  and  espe- 
cially the  parents  of  the  young  people  to  judge  discreetly 
of  suitability,  and  to  prevent  unsuitable  matches  by  all 
proper  means,  and  in  turn  requires  the  wishes  and  views 
at  least  of  parents  to  be  treated  with  consideration  and 
respect.  As  to  the  latter  requirement  it  need  only  be 
said  that  it  is  a  particular  case  of  the  general  moral  and 
social  rule  requiring  respect  for  parents,  though  no  doubt 
one  of  the  most  important  cases  in  point,  and  further, 
that  proper  filial  deference  in  this,  as  in  other  respects, 
diminishes  with  the  diminishing  utility  of  guidance  by 
parents.  For  instance,  as  the  age  at  which  marriages  are 
entered  into  rises,  parental  guidance  is  allowed  by  public 
opinion   to   become   decreasingly  influential.      Normally, 


TEMPERANCE  268 

however,  parents  exercise  a  large,  though,  in  societies 
where  the  second  group  of  regulations  are  observed,  chiefly 
a  negative,  influence  over  the  formation  of  marriage  ties. 
Positively  it  is  customary  for  them  to  add  to  their  chil- 
dren's lists  of  acquaintances,  but,  at  least  when  the  second 
group  is  well  developed,  they  do  comparatively  little  di- 
rectly to  enlarge  the  latter's  circles  of  friends,  and  even 
less,  in  an  authoritative  way,  to  direct  their  affections 
towards  this  or  that  object.  The  influence  of  parents 
and  other  experienced  advisers  is  largest  in  disapproving 
the  inclusion  of  undesirable  acquaintances  among  friends 
or  intimates,  and,  so  far  as  parents  and  those  standing  in 
loco  parentis  are  concerned,  in  exercising  a  veto  upon  un- 
suitable engagements.  And  filial  affection  joins  hands  with 
social  custom  in  recognizing  it  as  undutiful  for  a  daughter 
or  even  for  a  son  to  marry  in  opposition  to  parental  wishes. 
The  result  is,  that  older  heads  decide  upon  the  suitable 
partisj  from  among  whom  young  hearts  are  encouraged  to 
select  congenial  mates,  with  the  purpose  of  furthering 
marriages  that  shall  be  stable  with  the  double  assurance  of 
favourable  circumstances  and  mutual  attractiveness. 

It  should  be  said,  however,  that  it  has  proved  as  difficult 
to  hold  the  balance  even  between  the  third  and  the  second 
as  between  the  second  and  the  firet  groups  of  regulations. 
Where  parental  control  is  much  esteemed  it  is  easy  to 
imagine  that  mature  experience  is  as  competent  to  decide 
on  congeniality  as  on  suitability,  and  where  youthful  feel- 
ing is  highly  valued  it  is  but  a  short  step  to  intrust  it  with 
unsupervised  control.  Moreover,  the  national  line  of 
cleavage  has  the  same  situation  as  in  the  case  previously 
discussed,  the  continent  of  Europe  lying  on  the  one  side, 
and  the  balance  of  the  monogamous  world  lying  on  the 
other,  the  mariage  de  rai»on  arranged  by  elders  prevailing 
in  Europe,  and  the  romantic  marriage  more  or  less  exclu- 
sively based  on  mutual  attraction  and  youthful  judgment 
prevailing  elsewhere. 


254  ETHICS 

The  most  fundamental,  and  certainly  the  most  subtly 
pervasive,  of  the  social  customs  that  protect  monogamy 
fall  under  a  fourth  head.  Briefly  characterized  they  in- 
clude all  the  social  forces  that  transform  sexual  appetite 
into  romantic  love.  The  former  is,  in  fact,  in  its  bald 
simplicity,  inimical  rather  than  helpful  to  monogamous 
unions,  for,  as  in  the  case  of  other  crude  passions,  its  gross 
and  brutal  intensity  imports  selfishness  and  transiency. 
All  crude  passions  ruthlessly  seek  their  own  gratification, 
and  once  that  is  attained,  they  give  place  to  satiety  if  not 
to  disgust:  following  the  law  that  intensity  and  persis- 
tency of  feeling  vary  inversely.  But,  on  the  other  hand, 
romantic  love  is  at  once  permanent  and  unselfish,  at  least 
in  its  best  examples.  For,  in  the  first  place,  instead  of 
being  an  isolated  appetite  with  no  reliance  except  itself, 
it  permeates  the  whole  nature,  spreading  its  warmth  over 
all  feelings,  thoughts  and  impulses  of  youth  or  maiden. 
The  lover  and  his  mistress  become  adjusted  each  to  the 
other,  and  may  so  grow  in  attunement  that  far  into  old 
age  they  will  ring  in  harmony  long  after  mere  appetite  is 
dead.  And,  in  the  second  place,  romantic  love  does  not, 
and,  when  returned,  need  not,  seek  its  own  gratification. 
In  most  relations  of  life  each  cares  chiefly  for  his  own 
interests,  and  in  the  end  the  interests  of  all  are  cared  for 
after  a  fashion.  But  the  charm  of  romantic  love  is,  that 
the  interests  of  both  are  cared  for,  by  means  of  the  greater 
care  of  each  for  the  interests  of  the  other.  No  doubt 
perfect  instances  of  romantic  love  are  rare,  if  not  lacking, 
but  rough  human  approximations  to  the  ideal  form  the 
groundwork  upon  which  stable  monogamous  unions  are 
supported. 

At  all  events  relatively  successful  monogamy  is  coter- 
minous with  the  romantic  idealization  of  womanhood,  and 
of  conjugal  fidelity  and  mutual  service.  In  Greece  and 
the  oriental  nations  both  were  absent,  and  in  Rome  they 
were  imperfectly  present ;  only  since  the  birth  of  chivalry, 


TEMPERANCE  255 

that  unique  graft  of  Christianity  on  the  Teutonic  tempera- 
ment, has  monogamy  taken  root  in  the  world.  And  the 
special  instrument  of  society  to  that  end  is  literature  and 
art  generally,  though  peculiarly  the  former.  Until  recently 
most  western  literature  has  dealt  almost  exclusively  with 
the  romantic  passion,  and  painting,  sculpture,  and  music 
hiive  given  it  a  large  place.  The  result  is,  that  the  youth 
of  both  sexes  are  brought  up  in  an  atmosphere  that  throws 
a  thick  haze  over  the  grosser,  earthy  roots  of  marriage, 
and  lights  up  the  gracefully  overarching  branches  for  the 
happy  play  of  wit  and  fancy.  A  thousand  customs  and 
seemly  courtesies  conspire  to  this  end,  and  have  become  so 
ingrained  in  second  nature  that  it  would  be  diflBcult  to 
enumerate  them,  if  that  were  necessary.  And  even  those 
so  unfortunate  as  to  be  ignorant  of  art,  and  lacking  in 
breeding,  come  under  the  same  social  influence  in  this 
matter,  and  sometimes,  after  their  sturdy  fashion,  they 
live  out  the  spirit  of  romance  in  simple  wholesomeness. 
Science  knows  of  many  instances  of  beautiful  products 
that  have  developed  out  of  ugly  and  gross  beginnings, 
but  of  these  none  is  more  remarkable  than  romantic  love, 
and  to  none  does  civilization  owe  a  larger  debt. 

Evidently  the  social  customs  that  make  for  the  idealiza- 
tion of  the  relations  between  the  sexes  have  a  closer  affinity 
for  those  that  make  for  congeniality  than  for  those  falling 
under  the  first  and  third  heads.  Indeed,  unless  congenial- 
ity is  generally  accepted  in  any  given  society  as  essential 
to  marriage,  idealization  is  likely  to  be  inimical  to  monog- 
amy. For  congeniality  is  then  likely  to  grow  up  beyond 
the  conjugal  limits,  when  idealization  imparts  to  it  a 
dangerous  sanction.  The  opposite  danger  of  founding 
marriage  on  unidealized  congeniality,  or  mere  appetite, 
does  not  exist  as  a  social  custom  in  societies  at  all  advanced ; 
the  danger  is  too  apparent  for  social  approval  of  such 
a  basis,  though  unfortunately  individuals  are  sometimes 
unaware  of  it.     In  sum,  then,  there  are  two  allied  groups 


256  ETHICS 

of  regulations  that  make  for  the  idealized  mutual  attrac- 
tiveness of  prospective  spouses,  and  opposed  to  them,  a 
group  that  protects  chastity,  and  a  group  that  promotes 
suitability.  The  problem  of  the  best  premarital  customs 
is  the  problem  of  the  best  adjustment  of  the  four  groups, 
and  especially  of  the  mutual  adjustment  of  their  opposing 
pairs. 

The  description  of  the  four  groups  of  regulations  is  now 
complete,  and  in  this  connection  it  is  only  necessary  to 
add  a  word  on  the  differences  observed  among  the  regula- 
tions that  prevail  in  different  countries.  While  the  plan 
of  the  present  discussion  forbids  the  consideration  of  their 
relative  value,  it  permits  two  remarks  that  will  throw 
light  on  that  problem.  First,  then,  chastity,  congeniality, 
suitability,  and  idealization  as  conducive  if  not  essential 
to  stable,  monogamous  marriage,  are  all  four,  together 
with  the  social  customs  that  promote  and  protect  them, 
demanded  by  morality.  To  attack  any  of  the  four,  or  any 
of  the  customs  on  which  they  rest,  is  to  attack  morality. 
And  secondly,  the  family  being  so  fundamentally  impor- 
tant, a  nation's  customs  in  this  matter  are  ultimately  tested 
by  its  welfare,  and  proximately  tested  by  such  facts  as  the 
number  of  illegitimate  births,  separations,  divorces,  and 
cases  of  infidelity  and  of  unhappiness.  But  the  problem 
is  so  complex  and  the  monogamous  nations  are  so  nearly 
of  the  same  rank  that  it  is  difficult  to  secure  these  facts, 
and  more  difficult  to  institute  fair  comparisons. 

Regulations  governing  the  Married.  —  Marriage  does  not 
bring  with  it  emancipation  from  social  control,  nor  is  the 
character  of  the  control  essentially  different  from  that 
surrounding  the  unmarried.  But  owing  to  greater  familiar- 
ity with  the  subject,  gained  from  the  last  discussion,  it 
will  be  possible  to  deal  with  it  more  briefly  under  the 
present  head,  although  the  regulations  are  no  less  complex. 

In  casting  about  for  a  mode  of  presentation  that  will  in- 
sure inclusion  of  all  the  main  heads,  an  examination  of  the 


TEMPERANCE  251 

practice  of  monogamous  countries  in  the  matter  of  the 
grounds  accepted  as  adequate  for  divorce  suggests  itself 
as  the  most  promising  procedure.  Monogamous  nations 
are  deeply  concerned  to  maintain  all  conjugal  unions 
that  can  be  maintained  without  too  seriously  injuring 
the  deeper  interests  of  mankind;  and  it  is  quite  safe  to 
conclude  that  only  conduct  which  is  incompatible  with 
monogamy  will  be  accepted  as  a  sufficient  ground  for  dis- 
solution of  the  marriage  tie.  And,  from  the  other  side, 
it  is  also  safe  to  conclude,  in  view  of  the  rapid  and  gener- 
ous development  of  divorce  legislation,  that  no  really 
fundamental  neglect  of  marital  responsibilities  is  omitted 
from  among  the  grounds  for  divorce.  This  legislation 
accordingly  furnishes  an  adequate  list  of  the  main  classes 
of  conduct  that  are  reprobated  in  husband  and  wife,  and, 
as  it  is  easy  to  pass  from  a  defect  to  its  corresponding  good 
quality,  it  suggests  the  conduct  that  society  seeks  to  exact 
from  those  who  have  assumed  the  responsibilities  of  mar- 
riage. Moreover,  it  is  possible  and  will  be  convenient  to 
point  out  under  each  head  the  social  customs  that  serve 
to  promote  the  conduct  which  is  approved.  Of  course  the 
morality  of  divorce,  and  a  fortiori  of  particular  divorce  sys- 
tems, is  not  at  present  under  consideration,  though  a  word 
will  be  said  on  the  subject  at  the  end  of  the  discussion. 
Divorce  is  being  examined  merely  as  a  means  of  discover- 
ing the  essentials  of  monogamy  so  far  as  the  relations  of 
husband  and  wife  are  concerned.  This  allows  the  consid- 
eration of  grounds  that  are  not  everywhere  accepted  as 
adequate  justifications  for  divorce.  For  although  some  mo- 
nogamous states  may  consider  it  unwise  to  grant  divorces  on 
some  of  the  grounds  to  be  mentioned,  it  does  not  follow, 
and  it  is  not  true,  that  they  therefore  fail  to  disapprove  of 
the  conduct  in  question.  On  the  contrary,  it  is  safe  to 
say  that  conduct  which  is  regarded  by  any  monogamous 
state  as  a  sufficient  ground  for  divorce,  is  conduct  which 
all  monogamous  states  unite  in  condemning  as  a  serious 


258  ETHICS 

breach  of  marital  duty.  The  grounds  or  causes  of  divorce- 
will  be  mentioned  in  the  order  of  their  importance,  as  evi- 
denced by  the  number  of  states  that  accept  each. 

While  nullity  of  marriage  is  technically  different  from 
divorce,  it  naturally  falls  under  the  same  general  head,  and 
is  like  divorce  in  indicating  the  breaches  and  correspond- 
ing fulfilments  of  marital  duties.  Besides  it  is  appropriate 
to  consider  the  subject  here,  for  it  is  in  the  borderland  be- 
tween the  regulations  governing  the  unmarried  and  those 
governing  the  married.  Roughly  speaking,  marriages  are 
declared  null  and  void  on  two  grounds,  either  because  they 
were  not  voluntarily  contracted,  or  because  they  were  not 
contracted  in  due  form.  Or,  positively  stated,  society 
decrees  that  marriages  should  be  contracted  freely  and 
without  constraint,  and  that  the  wedded  state  should  be 
entered  into  not  hastily  or  inconsiderately,  but  in  a  delib- 
erate, solemn,  and  public  manner.  In  other  words,  society 
here  interposes  a  final  bar  to  hasty  and  to  uncongenial 
marriages.  Among  the  social  customs  with  the  same  end 
in  view,  it  is  only  necessary  to  mention  the  public  wedding, 
with  its  engraved  invitations,  bridesmaids  and  attendants, 
and  concourse  of  friends,  all  intended  to  herald  marriage 
as  a  well-considered  and  quasi-oflBcial  act  of  public  rather 
than  of  merely  private  concern. 

Tlie  generally,  though  not  universally,  accepted  grounds 
of  divorce  are :  adulteiy,  desertion,  failure  to  provide, 
cruelty,  drunkenness,  and  crime.  Of  these  adultery,  either 
alone  or  in  conjunction  with  one  of  the  other  grounds,  is 
accepted  wherever  divorce  is  allowed.  And  the  rest  are 
important  in  the  order  of  their  mention.  Nor  should  it  be 
supposed  that  these  grounds  are  accepted  in  only  a  few 
jurisdictions,  for,  on  the  contrary,  there  are  only  a  few  in 
which  they  are  not  accepted.  The  chief  differences  are 
in  the  matter  of  definition,  as  for  instance,  in  regard  to  the 
length  of  absence  that  is  necessary  for  desertion,  or  in  re- 
gard to  the  specific  unkindnesses  that  constitute  cruelty- 


TEMPERANCE  25^ 

Further,  as  was  earlier  suggested,  each  ground  of  divorce 
indicates  an  element  of  the  monogamous  ideal.  The  con- 
demnation of  adultery  points  to  fidelity,  of  desertion  to  as- 
sociation and  life  in  common,  of  failure  to  provide  to 
financial  support  suitable  to  social  station,  of  cruelty  to 
mutual  kindness  and  aid,  of  drunkenness  to  well-regulated 
eflBciency,  and  of  crime  to  conduct  that  respects  law  and 
morality.  It  remains  to  say  a  word  on  the  social  customs 
that  promote  and  protect  these  elements  of  the  ideal. 

Fidelity,  association  of  husband  and  wife,  and  their  life 
in  common  are  promoted  and  protected  in  a  number  of 
ways,  as  by  social  idealization  of  constancy,  of  motherhood, 
and  of  the  home ;  by  modesty  and  decency  of  behaviour 
that  preserves  mutual  respect  and  prevents  marriage  from 
retrogressing  on  to  the  narrow  basis  of  mere  appetite ;  by 
countless  customs  that  forbid  and  tend  to  prevent  undue 
association  or  marked  attachment  between  either  spouse 
and  any  person  of  the  opposite  sex,  besides,  or  in  place  of  the 
other,  and  that  hedge  about  the  sanctity  of  the  home  against 
too  familiar  intrusion ;  and  by  the  condemnation  of  habits 
and  interests,  whether  in  husbands  or  in  wives,  that  tend  to 
estrange  either  from  the  home  or  from  mutual  association. 

Financial  support,  though  exacted  in  legal  theory,  is 
not  in  practice  exacted  legally  or  socially  of  women,  and 
indeed  the  husbands  who  accept  or  are  dependent  on  the 
support  of  their  wives  generally  forfeit  the  respect  of  their 
fellows,  at  least  among  the  more  wholesome  social  classes. 
And  in  general  it  is  by  a  similar  withdrawal  of  respect, 
and  also  by  the  more  general  demand,  urged  in  many  ways, 
that  men  shall  earn  their  own  living,  that  society  brings 
pressure  to  bear  upon  men  to  support  their  families. 

Mutual  kindness  and  aid  is  enjoined  by  public  opinion^ 
and  instilled  by  the  chivalric  ideal  and  by  the  social  tradi- 
tions and  code  of  manners  that  find  expression  in  gentle 
breeding.  And  all  the  sanctions  of  morality  stand  behind 
and  support  well-regulated,  law-abiding,  and  moral  lives. 


260  ETHICS 

On  the  subject  of  divorce  in  general  space  limitations 
will  permit  only  two  remarks.  Well-tested  and  deliberate 
public  opinion  has  reached  the  conclusion,  as  voiced  in  all 
but  universal  legislation,  that  some  marriages  are  so  nearly 
nominal,  are  so  defeated  by  persistent  infidelity,  or  by 
neglect  and  abuse  of  mutual  duties  and  privileges,  are  so 
detrimental  to  the  property  interests,  personal  interests, 
happiness  and  usefulness  of  either  or  both  of  the  spouses, 
and  of  their  children,  that  the  best  interests  of  society 
demand  their  dissolution  at  law,  in  recognition  of  their  dis- 
solution or  perversion  in  fact.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  it 
is  recognized  that  easy  divorce  leads  to  ill-considered  mar- 
riage, that  the  latter  in  turn  leads  to  increase  of  marital 
failures  and  divorces,  and  so  on  in  endless  chain.  The 
problem  therefore  is,  while  allowing  divorce,  carefully  and 
wisely  to  define  its  grounds.  But  this  problem  is  as  yet 
unsolved,  and,  while  there  is  an  abundance  of  material 
throwing  light  on  this  and  that  aspect,  an  examination  of 
the  evidence  is  too  complicated  and  extensive  an  undertak- 
ing to  be  entered  into  here. 

And  now,  casting  a  glance  backwards  over  the  descrip- 
tion of  monogamy,  it  is  not  a  little  surprising  to  see  how 
complicated  is  sexual  virtue,  consisting  as  it  does  in  control, 
at  once  firm  and  discreet,  of  thoughts,  words,  manners,  hab- 
its, and  interests  the  most  intimate  as  well  as  the  farthest 
reaching.  The  man  who  sets  out  to  be  sexually  temperate 
constantly  finds  himself  performing  actions  that  seem  at 
first  sight  to  concern  anything  else  more  than  they  do  the 
sexual  appetite  —  actions  that  range  all  the  way  from  well- 
mannered  behaviour,  through  outdoor  sport,  to  business 
transactions.  The  entire  social  fabric  is  fashioned  with  a 
view  to  the  maintenance  of  monogamy,  and  the  life  of 
every  individual  down  to  the  minutest  details  is  influenced 
by  social  pressure,  and,  if  he  is  virtuous,  is  in  accordance 
with  the  most  enlightened  public  opinion.  The  inade- 
quacy of  the  definition  of  sexual  temperance  in  terms  of 


TEMPERANCE  261 

«elf-control,  or  in  terms  of  the  golden  mean,  must  now  bo 
apparent.  To  be  sure,  when  indulgence  is  allowed,  it  is 
confined  by  the  requirements  of  virtue  witliin  the  bounds 
of  moderation  and  of  self-control.  But  the  striking  fact  is, 
that,  in  presence  of  all  but  a  very  few  opportunities  for 
indulgence,  virtue  is  not  satisfied  with  moderation  and  self- 
control  as  before  defined,  but  prescribes  abstinence,  and 
even  abstention  from  thought  or  word  about  indulgence. 
In  sum,  therefore,  there  are  two  chief  characteristics  of 
sexual  virtue :  first,  it  includes  many  actions  to  which  it 
is  apparently  but  remotely  related ;  and  secondly,  the  self- 
controlled  and  moderate  indulgence  it  allows  stands  out 
from  a  far-reaching  background  of  abstinence.  It  will  be 
interesting  to  note  how  these  two  characteristics  reappear 
in  the  other  departments  of  temperance. 

§  5.    Temperate  Eating 

The  problems  connected  with  the  appetite  for  food  are 
rather  prudential  and  economic  than  ethical.  For,  as  has 
already  been  suggested,  instinct,  and  the  many  and  varied 
interests  that  spring  up  in  civilized  society,  are  strong 
enough  to  hold  the  food  appetite  well  under  control.  It 
accordingly  happens  that  social  customs  and  the  code  of 
manners  succeed  in  confining  eating  to  stated  times,  and 
in  preventing  the  indulgence  at  meals  from  being  over- 
eager  or  grossly  large.  Intemperate  eating  is  not  unknown, 
but  it  is  the  exception,  and  is  so  little  of  a  problem  that 
the  lesser  forces  of  prudence  are  commonly  left  to  deal 
with  it  unaided.  Injudicious  eating  is  much  more  preva- 
lent, but  that  is  generally  a  matter  of  financial  misfortune, 
or  else  of  hygienic  ignorance,  with  which  morality  is  only 
indirectly  concerned.  It  may  be  noted  that  the  two  char- 
acteristics of  temperance  mentioned  in  the  last  paragraph 
reappear  in  the  present  connection.  Temperate  eating  is 
made  possible  by  decidedly  elaborate  domestic  arrange- 
ments, which  restrict  eating  to  times  and  occasions  whero 


262  ETHICS 

there  is  the  least  danger  of  intemperance.  It  is  because 
the  common  meal  is  fundamentally  a  family  function  that 
overeating  is  so  rare. 

§  6.     Temperate  Drinking 

Turning  to  the  appetite  for  strong  drink,  great  difficul- 
ties at  once  appear.  Between  pleasure  and  the  promotion 
of  sociability  on  the  credit  side,  and  the  resultant  ineffi- 
ciency, pauperism,  and  crime — to  mention  only  the  most 
strikingly  injurious  results  —  to  be  charged  up  against  al- 
coholic overindulgence,  society  is  unable  to  decide.  Every 
plan  so  far  adopted  to  control  drinking  in  order  to  avoid 
these  dangers  has  proved  unsuccessful  because  too  large 
a  number  of  men  have  thought  that  social  pleasure  and 
sociability  were  being  unduly  curtailed.  In  other  words, 
an  influential  minority,  if  not  a  majority,  have  insisted  that 
in  devising  regulations  for  the  purpose  of  protecting  soci- 
ety from  injury,  care  should  also  be  taken  to  preserve  for 
society  those  advantages  that  from  earliest  times  have 
flowed  from  drinking. 

It  can  be  said,  however,  that  intemperate  drinking  has 
notably  diminished,  and,  what  is  more  important,  has  fallen 
into  more  general  disrepute,  during  the  last  two  genera- 
tions. Hard  drinking,  for  instance,  is  much  less  common, 
and  among  men  in  prominent  positions  it  is  so  unusual  as 
to  excite  remark  when  it  is  indulged  in ;  in  striking  con- 
trast with  the  amount  of  hard  drinking  that  prevailed 
unrebuked  in  high  social  and  political  places  before  the 
middle  of  the  century.  This  result  is  probably  due  in  the 
main  to  two  causes.  First,  with  the  phenomenal  advance 
in  science,  very  much  more  is  known  of  the  injury  done 
by  the  intemperate  drinker  both  to  himself  and  to  society. 
For  instance,  by  aid  of  the  statistics  that  are  being  con- 
stantly collected  and  studied,  it  is  possible  to  prove  that 
intemperance  is  one  of  the  potent  causes  alike  of  inef- 
ficiency, of  pauperism,  and  of  crime.     And  this  knowledge 


TEMPERANCE  263 

is  being  followed  by  its  natural  effects,  as  is  shown,  among 
other  things,  by  the  growing  practice  among  business  men 
of  refusing  to  give  employment  to  those  who  indulge  in 
excessive  drinking,  debaucherj',  or  gambling,  on  the  ground 
that  such  employees  are  comparatively  inefficient  and  unre- 
liable. And  secondly,  immoderate  drinking  has  decreased 
because  active  substitutes  and  rivals  have  g^own  up.  Sug- 
gesting these  succinctly,  thirst  can  be  conveniently 
quenched  in  most  towns  and  cities  by  means  of  non- 
intoxicating  drinks  and  by  means  of  the  less  alcoholic  malt 
liquors ;  and  the  pleasures  of  excitement,  exhilaration,  and 
sociability  can  be  had  in  the  form  of  the  many  outdoor 
sports  that  are  growing  so  rapidly  in  public  favour. 

But,  in  spite  of  the  decrease,  it  still  remains  true  that 
the  rudimentary  requirements  of  temperance,  moderation, 
and  the  maintenance  of  self-control  are  very  widely  disre- 
garded in  the  matter  of  drinking,  more  so  than  in  any 
other  one  direction.  Moreover,  the  evils  of  excessive  drink- 
ing afflict  the  classes  that  are  least  able  to  bear  them,  those 
burdened  with  an  undue  tendency  towards  inefficiency, 
thriftlessness,  and  crime,  one  or  all.  In  the  interest  of 
social  welfare  a  remedy  is  demanded,  and  it  may  be  allow- 
able to  suggest,  for  what  it  is  worth,  that  hope  seems,  so 
far  as  the  present  investigation  throws  light  on  the  sub- 
ject, to  lie  in  concerted  movements  along  four  lines: 
(1)  increase  of  information  on  the  subject;  (2)  further 
development  of  substitutes  and  rivals  for  intoxication; 
(3)  idealization  of  drinking,  on  analogy  with  the  romantic 
man-iage,  and  its  transformation  into  a  family  and  friendly 
function  with  similar  safeguards  to  those  surrounding  the 
-common  meal ;  and  (4)  abolition  or  modification  of  the 
saloon,  so  that  it  will  not  thrust  temptation  on  men  at 
every  turning,  while  withdrawing  them  from  all  deterrent 
influences.  No  item  of  this  scheme  is  novel.  Tlie  first 
and  second  already  exist,  though  undeveloped ;  the  third 
exists  at  its  best  in  Germany,  though  capable  of  improve- 


264  ETHICS 

ment  even  there;  and  the  fourth  has  been  strenuously 
urged,  though  probably  in  too  extreme  a  form,  in  the 
United  States.  What  is  needed  is  that  all  four  should  be 
harmonized  and  crystallized  into  an  organic  body  of  social 
customs,  similar  to  that  which  surrounds  the  marriage 
system. 

§  7.    Temperance  in  General 

There  are  many  desires  besides  the  three  or  four  appe- 
tites so  far  discussed,  and  some  of  these  desires  are  very 
strong  and  unruly,  in  many  men  more  so  than  the  appe- 
tites themselves.  Among  them  may  be  mentioned  desires 
for  money,  fame,  rank,  success,  and  indeed  all  the  human 
interests  and  objects  of  ambition  suggested  in  a  former 
chapter.  The  only  rules  of  temperance  that  apply  to  all 
desires,  including  the  appetites,  are  the  rules  of  self-con- 
trol and  moderation,  already  formulated,  and  what  may  be 
called  the  rule  of  individuation,  to  be  described  immedi- 
ately. Of  these  the  most  important  is  the  first,  for  the 
man  who  has  lost  self-control  is  like  tlie  rider  of  a  runa- 
way horse ;  it  is  a  mere  matter  of  chance  if  serious  calam- 
ity does  not  befall  him.  The  third  rule  springs  from  the 
concreteness  of  morality,  which  addresses  itself  to  each 
individual  singly,  allowing  to  each  exemptions,  and  lay- 
ing on  each  exactions,  that  are  allowed  to  and  laid  on  no 
other.  More  exactions  in  the  way  of  ordinarily  recog- 
nized temperance  are  laid,  for  instance,  on  ministers  and 
teachers,  because  of  the  influence  of  their  examples.  And, 
for  reasons  that  will  repay  investigation,  greater  license 
is  allowed  literary  men,  and  especially  artists.  These  are 
illustrations  of  the  general  rule  that  each  man  must  live 
his  own  moral  life  in  detail,  and  live  it  at  his  peril. 

Moreover,  it  is  true  of  each  of  the  desires  that  its  proper 
regulation  calls  both  for  many  actions  and  abstinences  in 
which  the  desire  itself  is  not  immediately  concerned,  and 
for  utter  abstinence  on  a  host  of  occasions.     Social  rules 


TEMPERANCE  265 

and  customs,  though  never  trustworthy  in  all  details, 
ofiFer,  in  well-regulated  communities,  the  best  guidance  in 
these  respects.  For  instance,  the  methods  of  the  most  re- 
spected business  men  in  any  community  normally  embody 
the  wisest  regulations  of  the  desire  for  money  under  the 
conditions  that  there  prevail.  And  this  suggests  the  obser- 
vation, which  has  probably  already  occurred  to  the  reader, 
that  after  a  few  general  rules  have  been  laid  down,  the 
morality  of  temperance  is  rather  a  matter  of  ideals,  as 
embodied  in  the  highest  exemplars,  than  of  rules.^  But 
ideals  can  be  found  by  those  who  choose  to  seek  them. 

Finally,  looking  out  upon  all  indulgences  at  once,  and 
considering  that  all  that  are  proper  at  all  must  be  allowed 
in  due  measure,  and  remembering  the  far-reaching  com- 
plexity of  marital  regulations,  it  appears  that  temperance, 
viewed  in  its  entirety,  can  find  its  only  adequate  embodi- 
ment in  a  well-planned  and  well-ordered  life.  The  plan 
must  be  comprehensive,  sufficiently  firm-fibred,  and  suffi- 
ciently flexible,  allowing  each  desire  its  proper  indulgence 
in  the  long  run,  though  only  on  proper  occasions,  in  proper 
company,  and  in  proper  manner,  on  general  analogy  with 
the  marriage  system.  Without  such  a  plan,  consciously  or 
unconsciously  adopted,  temperance  does  not  exist.  By 
such  a  plan  the  virtuous  man  would  naturally  and  easily 

rule  his  life. 

iCf.  Ch.  Vn,  Vin,  and  XV. 


CHAPTER  XII 

Benevolence 
§  1.    Introduction 

The  last  two  chapters  have  dealt  with  the  virtuous  will» 
attempting  to  describe  the  control  the  virtuous  man  would 
firmly  maintain  over  his  desires  and  aversions,  whenever 
these  latter,  if  uncontrolled,  would  lead  him  astray.  The 
present  chapter  is  concerned  with  the  desires  and  aversions 
themselves,  with  the  feelings,  or,  to  use  the  most  compre- 
hensive term,  with  the  unforced  inclinations  that  would 
characterize  the  virtuous  man. 

Before  coming  to  close  quarters  with  the  subject,  it  will 
be  well  to  clear  away  a  possible  source  of  confusion.  As 
here  used,  benevolence  includes  all  inclinations  to  object- 
ively moral  conduct.  This  is  an  extension  of  popular 
usage,  according  to  which  benevolence  is  equivalent  to 
good- will  or  the  inclination  to  benefit,  there  being  no  single 
word  to  designate  ill-will,  or  the  inclination  to  oppose  or 
injure.  Of  course,  in  spite  of  the  absence  of  such  a  word, 
there  are  morally  approved  feelings  of  the  latter  kind,  as 
instanced  in  righteous  indignation,  disapproval,  desire  to 
punish,  etc.  On  appropriate  occasions  all  these  and  others 
like  them  are  morally  incumbent  feelings,  which  the  vir^ 
tuous  man  would  not  be  without.  And  as  they  fall  in  the 
same  class  with  the  various  species  of  good-will,  it  is  con- 
venient to  discuss  them  in  the  same  chapter.  By  regard- 
ing the  first  part  of  the  word  "benevolence"  as  an  adverb, 
and  considering  that  to  be  benevolent  is  to  feel  properly 

266 


BENEVOLENCE  267 

or  appropriately  inclined,  this  extended  meaning  will  easily 
be  held  in  mind. 

It  is  naturjil  enough  for  the  popular  mind,  when  think- 
ing of  the  control  of  inclinations,  as  in  the  case  of  courage 
and  temperance,  to  pick  out  for  consideration  only  the 
strong  appetites  and  aversions  that  peculiarly  need  control; 
and  equally  natui-al,  when  thinking  of  advantageous  inclin- 
ations, to  pick  out  those  that  are  relatively  weak  and  need 
encouragement,  giving  little  thought  to  the  inclinations 
that  are  believed  to  be  strong  enough  to  take  care  of 
themselves.  But  here  it  will  be  necessary  to  keep  in 
mind  all  inclinations,  whether  needing  encouragement  or 
not,  and  among  them  hostile  feelings. 

It  will  also  be  helpful  to  gain  a  general  idea  of  what  the 
natural  inclinations  are.  And  for  this  purpose  it  will  be 
•convenient  to  divide  them  into  two  classes,  the  first  includ- 
ing the  propensities,  the  second  the  feelings,  and  to  sub- 
divide each  of  these  into  two  subclasses,  the  first  including 
the  favourable,  the  second  the  unfavourable.  In  the  case  of 
propensities,  the  impulsion  comes  from  within.  They  are 
based  on  automatic  as  distinguished  from  reflex  actions. 
But,  on  the  other  hand,  men  have  feelings  towards  outer 
•objects,  and  feelings  have  their  basis  in  and  give  guidance 
to  reflex  actions,  and  to  the  higher  forms  of  action  that 
develop  out  of  reflexes,  after  the  fashion  shown  in  Chap- 
ter IV.  Among  unfavourable  propensities  may  be  men- 
tioned shrinking  from  pain,  from  nameless  dread,  and 
from  over-exertion ;  among  favourable  propensities,  rest- 
lessness or  spontaneous  activity,  and  the  bodily  appetites 
dealt  with  in  the  last  chapter.  Propensities  are  suffi- 
ciently, indeed,  unduly  strong,  as  was  there  seen.  And, 
while  they  are  essential  to  life,  individual  and  social,  they 
are  chiefly  in  need  of  regulation.  As  space  is  limited, 
they  may  be  dismissed  from  further  consideration  here. 

But  feelings  must  be  considered  at  some  length,  first 
hostile  feelings  and  then  friendly  feelings.     Only  feelings 


268  ETHICS 

towards  persons  and  quasi-persons  will  be  considered,  as. 
feelings  towards  things  are  important  for  ethics,  only  in  so 
far  as  they  lead  to  conduct  that  affects  persons  of  either 
kind.  In  the  case  of  each  class  of  feelings,  there  will  first 
be  a  historical  sketch,  and  then  a  discussion  of  the  feelings 
of  that  class  regarded  as  virtuous  by  leading  peoples  of 
to-day.  It  is  difficult  to  know  what  feelings  are  approved 
or  what  feelings  are  disapproved,  but  it  is  easier  to  dis- 
cover what  deeds  are  allowed,  enjoined,  and  approved 
respectively,  and  through  that  medium  it  is  possible  to- 
infer  the  opinions  entertained  towards  the  various  feelings- 

§  2.    Hostile  Feeling 

The  objects  of  hostile  feeling  may  conveniently  be  di- 
vided into  three  classes  for  separate  treatment,  —  external 
public  enemies,  internal  public  enemies,  and  private  ene- 
mies. As  societies  advance  in  prosperity,  in  enlightenment, 
and  in  wisdom,  the  third  group  tends  to  be  assimilated  to 
the  first  and  second,  —  the  only  enemies  of  the  truly  virtu- 
ous man  are  public  enemies,  —  and  the  feelings  entertained 
towards  enemies  tend  to  incite  to  forms  of  hostile  conduct 
that  are  humane  while  remaining  none  the  less  effective. 

Hostility  to  External  Public  Enemies.  —  As  attention 
moves  upward  from  the  lowest  to  the  highest  types  of 
human  society,  hostility  decreases  in  scope,  in  continuity,, 
and  in  intensity  and  virulence.  Among  the  lowest  savage 
hordes  and  tribes  warfare  is  practically  continuous ;  it 
is  waged  against  every  adjacent  tribe  collectively,  and 
against  each  of  its  individual  members,  men,  women,  and 
children  ;  and  it  is  waged  with  a  ferocity  that  not  only 
allows  but  calls  for  fierce  delight  in  the  agonies  suffered 
by  tortured  enemies.  Savage  tribes  below  the  pastoral 
level  need  a  wide  range  of  country  from  which  to  obtain 
the  bare  necessaries  of  life,  and  their  survival  depends 
upon  their  ability  to  diminish  the  number  of  mouths  to  be 
fed,  by  exterminating  rival  tribes  as  thoroughly  as  oppor- 


BENEVOLENCE  269 

tunities  permit.  If  they  could  domesticate  animals,  a 
lesser  area  would  suffice  them ;  and  if  they  were  capable 
of  even  a  rude  husbandry,  their  enemies  might  more  profit- 
ably be  spared  to  become  slaves.  But  many  generations 
are  needed  before  these  arts  can  be  learned,  and  meantime 
the  need  for  food  is  pressing,  and  the  two  alternatives  are 
to  exterminate  or  to  be  exterminated.  From  the  begin- 
ning of  organic  life  there  has  been  the  same  tragic  choice 
for  those  desiring  to  survive,  to  become  efficient,  a  matter 
of  no  little  difficulty,  or  to  be  cruel.  Efficiency  then  being 
80  slow  a  growth,  in  early  days  it  is  the  fierce  and  cruel  in 
action  that  survive,  and  the  fierce  and  cruel  in  action  are 
the  fierce  and  cruel  in  feeling.  Readers  who  care  to  con- 
sult the  works  of  trustworthy  travellers  will  find  that 
savage  victors,  practically  without  exception,  kill  all  foes 
who  fall  into  their  hands,  and  besides  reserve  the  more 
prominent  leaders  for  torture.  It  is  not  easy  for  the 
civilized  man  to  form  any  adequate  notion  of  the  sav- 
ages' fierce  delight  in  bloodshed  and  suffering.  Nothing 
familiar  to  him  is  at  all  comparable  to  it,  unless  it  be  the 
absorbing  interest  taken  by  some  boys,  passing  through 
the  savage  stage,  in  the  torture  of  animals. 

Among  barbarians,  especially  those  who  have  passed 
from  the  pastoral  into  the  agricultural  stage,  notable  changes 
appear.  Instead  of  being  continuous,  wars  are  separated 
by  considerable  intervals  of  peace.  Alliances,  not  un- 
known among  higher  savage  tribes,  are  commonly  formed 
and  kept  with  neighbouring  states,  thus  limiting  the  scope 
of  hostility  to  adjacent  states  with  which  no  alliances  exist. 
The  scope  of  hostility  is  further  reduced  by  the  fact  that 
war  is  carried  on  not  by  the  whole  adult  male  population 
on  either  side,  but  by  the  military  class  alone,  the  bulk 
of  the  people  continuing  their  ordinary  peaceful  pursuits, 
in  order  to  furnish  the  food  and  other  needed  supplies. 
Finally,  the  conduct  of  the  combatants,  and  especially  of 
the  victors,  is  very  different  from  what  it  is  among  savages. 


270  ETHICS 

Fii"st,  in  the  usual  order  of  time,  captured  women  and 
children  are  spared,  next  non-combatants  are  enslaved  in- 
stead of  being  slaughtered,  then  torture  and  insult  of  van- 
quished warriors  are  in  turn  abandoned,  then  the  freedom 
and,  much  later,  the  property  of  the  inhabitants  of  con- 
quered territory  are  first  respected  and  next  protected, 
and  finally  the  soldiers  of  opposing  armies  are  treated  as 
mercifully  as  is  consistent  with  the  achievement  of  victory. 
Only  the  earlier  stages  of  this  evolution  of  humanity  are 
reached  by  barbarians,  the  later  appearing  only  among 
civilized  nations. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  fix  exactly  the  date  when  war- 
fare first  began  to  become  civilized.  But  probably  1648,  the 
date  of  the  Peace  of  Westphalia,  is  less  arbitrary  than  any 
other  year  that  could  be  selected.  For  the  agreement  then 
entered  into  was  the  first  important  practical  step  towards 
the  establishment  of  an  international  law  regulating  the 
intercourse  of  nations  in  peace  and  in  war. 

As  a  matter  of  rudimentary,  unsystematic,  and  unauthori- 
tative custom,  international  law,  if  under  those  conditions 
the  name  is  deserved,  is  as  old  as  human  associations. 
Intercourse  has  always  taken  place  among  societies,  and  in 
this  respect,  as  in  all  others,  custom  fixes  decidedly  intri- 
cate, though  up  to  civilized  times  relatively  ineffectual, 
rules  and  ceremonial.  Indeed,  some  of  the  practices  of  the 
Greeks  and  many  of  the  practices  of  the  Romans  exist  in 
the  present  code  of  international  law.  Yet  it  is  only  in 
the  last  two  and  a  half  centuries  that  any  consciously 
devised  and  quasi-authoritative  system  of  rules  has  come 
to  govern  nations  in  their  conduct  towards  one  another. 
Again,  as  a  matter  of  theory  and  speculation  international 
law  was  a  familiar  conception  many  years  before  1648. 
To  say  nothing  of  incidental  mention  by  other  thinkers, 
some  ante-Christian,  and,  during  the  present  era,  some 
ecclesiastical  and  some  secular,  Grotius,  the  acknowledged 
founder  of  international  law,  wrote  in  the  first  quarter  of 


BENEVOLENCE  271 

the  seventeenth  century,  his  De  Man  Libera  appearing  in 
1609,  and  his  great  work,  De  Jure  Belli  ac  Pacis^  in  1625. 

But  it  is  more  than  doubtful  whether  even  that  great 
treatise  could  have  inaugurated  the  beginnings  of  in- 
ternational law  without  the  assistance  of  the  peculiar 
conditions  that  prevailed  during  the  Thirty  Years'  War, 
especially  the  fully  experienced  inconclusiveness  of  war  as 
a  means  of  deciding  the  bitter  disputes  that  then  distracted 
Europe.  In  any  event,  the  first  decisive  step  was  in  fact 
taken  at  Westphalia,  and  the  march  there  begun  has  pro- 
ceeded with  little  interruption  —  the  Napoleonic  wars 
being  the  most  retrogressive  period  —  in  literal  truth  up 
to  the  present  day. 

Impressive  as  has  been  the  steady  advance  of  interna- 
tional law  in  defining  the  rights  of  sovereign  states,  its 
greatest  achievement  consists  in  the  explicit  recognition 
that  foreign  states  have  rights  entitled  to  respect.  For 
this  recognition  raises  conflicts  between  states  from  the 
plane  of  might  to  the  plane  of  right.  No  doubt  even  now 
might  often  masquerades  as  right,  but  the  fact  that  it  has  to 
adopt  that  disguise  is  of  itself  significant  of  the  attitude  of 
public  conscience,  and  prophetic  of  future  developments 
in  the  intercourse  among  states.  And,  as  international 
law  has  become  more  firmly  established,  and  has  spread 
to  regulate  the  relations  of  states  with  increasing  adequacy, 
international  problems  have  in  fact  tended  to  become 
judicial  problems,  in  which  precedents  were  to  be  con- 
sulted, and  the  rights  of  each  of  the  parties  considered 
duly  and  without  arbitrariness.  The  relations  of  nations 
used  to  be  like  those  of  individuals  in  savage  days,  when 
every  man  and  his  family  were  ready  to  attack  or  to 
defend  themselves  from  every  other  man  and  his  family, 
and,  in  many  respects,  like  the  relations  of  individuals 
in  lawless  mining  camps  to-day.  Now  relations  between 
nations  are,  normally,  like  those  existing  between  business 
men  in  peaceful  but  active  communities.     Selfish  interest 


272  ETHICS 

is  sought,  actively  sought,  but  lawful  methods  prevail  in 
place  of  lawless  methods.  In  other  words,  the  method 
of  negotiation  and  contract  has  all  but  completely  super- 
ceded the  older  method  of  resort  to  physical  force.  And 
the  progress  thereby  achieved  in  international  dealings  can 
best  be  realized  if  it  is  likened  to  the  magnitude  of  the 
progress  made  from  the  days  when  every  man's  hand  was 
against  his  neighbour  to  the  present  regime  under  which 
contract  and  obedience  to  law  so  largely  determine  the 
relations  of  man  to  man. 

Of  the  two  branches  of  existing  international  law, 
dealing  respectively  with  peace  and  war,  that  dealing  with 
war  and  the  steps  leading  up  to  it  is  of  greater  concern  in 
the  present  connection ;  and,  it  may  be  added,  that  branch 
is  by  far  the  larger.  In  the  main  this  larger  part  of  inter- 
national law  has  served  two  purposes ;  (1)  it  has  sought  to 
make  war  the  last  resort,  a  remedy  turned  to  when  all 
other  means  of  accommodating  difficulties  have  been  tried 
and  have  failed ;  and  (2)  it  has  sought  to  reduce  the 
inconveniences,  horrors,  and  sufferings  of  war  to  the 
minimum  that  remains  compatible  with  its  office  as  a 
drastic  means  for  the  settlement  of  international  difficul- 
ties. A  few  words  may  be  said  regarding  each  of  these 
aims  of  international  law. 

The  principle  at  present  recognized  in  international  law 
is,  that  while  war  is  sometimes  unavoidable,  and  even  just, 
yet  it  is  never  justifiable  unless  a  peaceful  solution  of  the 
difference  has  been  sought  by  every  means  that  could 
appropriately  be  employed.  The  possibilities  of  peaceful 
adjustment  are  not  in  fact  always  exhausted,  but  the  recog- 
nized principle  demands  that  they  should  be,  and  civilized 
public  opinion  is  ranging  itself  behind  the  principle  with 
increasing  effectiveness.  A  government  that  plunges  into 
a  war  that  might  have  been  avoided  without  sacrifice 
of  essential  rights,  is  held  to  account  at  home  as  well 
as  abroad.     Among  the  generally  recognized  methods  of 


BENEVOLENCE  273 

amicable  accommodation  may  be  mentioned  compromise, 
mediation,  commissions  of  inquiry,  and  arbitration.  The 
terra  "  compromise  "  has  its  usual  significance,  and  defini- 
tions for  the  others  can  be  found  in  any  good  text-book  on 
international  law. 

Among  the  other  contributions  of  international  law 
towards  the  peaceful  settlement  of  disputes  between 
nations  may  be  mentioned  the  attempts  made  to  distinguish 
just  from  unjust  wars,  with  a  view  to  bringing  enlightened 
public  opinion  to  bear  upon  nations  contemplating  the 
latter.  It  is  generally  recognized  that  all  peaceful  means 
having  failed,  it  is  just  for  a  nation  to  wage  war  (1)  in 
order  to  secure  what  belongs  to  or  is  due  it ;  (2)  in  order 
to  provide  for  future  safety  by  requiring  reparation  for 
injury  done  it ;  and  (3)  in  order  to  protect  itself  and  its 
property  from  genuinely  threatened  injury.  And  there 
are  other  causes  of  war  that  are,  though  with  some  ques- 
tion, recognized  as  just.  Important  to  note  is  the  fact 
that  the  attempt  at  definition  is  being  made,  and  that, 
however  just  wars  may  come  to  be  defined,  the  principle 
is  fully  recognized  that  nations  too  must  have  their 
"quarrels  just." 

Passing  to  the  second  service  of  international  law,  its 
contribution  to  the  decrease  of  the  horrors,  inconveniences, 
and  sufferings  of  war,  it  may  in  general  be  said  that  the 
aim  is  to  limit  the  conflict  to  hostile  fleets  and  armies,  and 
besides  to  diminish  the  sufferings  of  sailors  and  soldiers  as 
much  as  is  compatible  with  the  decisiveness  of  war.  The 
theory  of  international  law  still  is  that  each  belligerent  is 
at  war  with  every  individual  of  the  opi)osed  nation,  and 
has  the  right  to  injure  their  persons  and  proiKjrty  at  will. 
But  the  universal  practice  among  civilized  nations,  largely 
supported  by  treaty  provisions,  is  very  different.  While 
the  persons  of  non-combatants  and  private  property  are 
theoretically  at  the  mercy  of  the  enemy,  a  large  measure 
of  mercy  in  those  cases,  and  even  in  the  case  of  com- 

T 


274  ETHICS 

batants,  is  generally  practised,  and  is  recognized  as  & 
duty. 

Persons  who  take  no  part  in  the  war  and  make  no  armed 
resistance,  are  generally  safe  from  hostile  attack  on  their 
lives  and  personal  security,  and  also  on  their  liberty,  sub- 
ject always  to  military  exigencies.  Subject  to  a  few 
reasonable  exceptions,  private  property  on  land  is  exempt 
from  seizure  or  confiscation,  though  practically  any  prop- 
erty, public  or  private,  if  found  at  sea  or  afloat  in  port, 
may  be  taken  as  lawful  prize.  Neutrals  are  of  coursfr 
spared  the  actual  sufferings  of  war,  and  besides  may  be 
gainers  in  securing  some  of  the  commerce  of  belligerents. 
And  the  treatment  of  combatants  has  lost  much  of  its  old- 
time  harshness.  Prisoners  of  war  are  granted  quarter. 
They  are  generally  exchanged,  are  in  the  meantime  sup- 
ported, and  are  given,  or  should  under  international  law 
be  given,  as  liberal  and  humane  treatment  as  military,, 
financial,  and  other  essential  conditions  permit.  Again, 
only  humane  instruments  and  methods  of  warfare  are 
sanctioned  among  civilized  states,  a  ban  being  put  upon 
poisoned  weapons,  explosive  bullets,  and  in  general  upon 
whatever  adds  to  the  cruelty  of  war  without  conducing  ta 
its  termination.  Finally,  no  obstacle  is  put  in  the  way 
of  tending  the  wounded.  By  the  convention  of  Geneva, 
1864,  all  hospitals  and  ambulances  were  declared  neutral^ 
and  thus  secured  from  attack  by  any  belligerent. 

And  now,  a  few  words  are  necessary,  (1)  to  show  that 
the  conduct  towards  public  enemies  approved  by  inter- 
national law  is  the  soundest  basis  on  which  to  found  a 
conception  of  moral  conduct  in  that  sphere,  and  (2)  to 
describe  the  feelings  that  would  most  conduce  to  that  con- 
duct, i.e.  the  virtuous  feelings  towards  public  enemies. 

As  regards  the  first  point,  the  general  principle  involved 
is  that  a  study  of  the  practices  of  the  best  agents  offers 
the  most  effective  and  scientific  means  of  discovering  moral 
conduct  in  any  field.     This  follows  from  the  very  nature 


BENEVOLENCE  276 

of  conscience  itself.  For  it  will  be  remembered,  conscience 
is  the  record  in  the  individual  of  the  conduct  that  appeals 
to  him  as  the  highest,  and  conscience  is  therefore  ti-uest 
to  its  function  when  it  accepts  the  highest  conduct  observ- 
able in  any  field  as  its  guide.  By  accepting  such  a  guide, 
moreover,  an  escape  is  possible  from  the  vagaries  and 
meagre  theories  of  mere  thinkers,  out  of  touch  with 
practical  affairs,  and  incapable  of  estimating  the  issues 
actually  involved.  International  law,  for  instance,  has 
been  slowly  evolved  as  a  result  of  the  cautious  agreements 
of  foreign  ministers  and  ambassadors,  all  men  in  a  position 
to  be  well  acquainted  with  the  effects  of  each  provision  on 
the  vital  interests  of  their  respective  nations.  And  while 
no  doubt  in  time  better  machinery  will  be  devised  for 
settling  upon  international  conduct  calculated  to  further 
the  best  interests  of  all  nations,  it  is  too  plain  to  need 
argument  that  no  solitary  thinker,  shut  out  from  public 
life,  can  hope,  except  by  the  merest  chance,  to  suggest 
genuine  improvements  on  the  operative  system  of  inter- 
national law.  The  thinker  of  wide  reading,  calm  judg- 
ment, impressive  personality,  and  high  ideals  often  does 
assist  the  makers  of  international  law  to  devise  improve- 
ments ;  chiefly  because  he  can  correct,  by  means  of  his  easier 
outlook  and  larger  hopes,  the  cynicism  that  their  life,  with 
its  stress  on  human  frailty,  inertia,  and  blindness,  engenders. 
But  his  suggestions  are  never  incorponited  into  the  system 
in  the  form  in  which  they  are  made,  and  the  system  would 
not  be  improved,  i.e.  the  general  welfare  of  nations  would 
not  be  increased,  if  they  were. 

Of  the  plans  so  far  devised,  the  one  that  in  genuine  truth 
can  do  the  most  to  further  the  general  welfare  of  nations, 
is  the  plan  that  at  present  works  in  practice,  and  that  is 
the  plan  therefore  that  Ethics  is  seeking  for  description. 
For  it  is  not  the  function  of  ethical  science  to  assist  states- 
men in  improving  international  law  ;  its  proper  function  in 
this  field  is  to  describe  the  system  of  international  conduct 


276  ETHICS 

that  scientific  probability  designates  as  that  which  will 
best  further  the  common  welfare  of  all  nations.  At  the 
present  time  international  law  best  describes  that  system, 
and  Ethics  must  follow  the  description  given. 

And  now  what  feelings  towards  foreign  nations  and 
their  citizens  or  subjects  will  render  obedience  to  inter- 
national law  easiest  ?  Evidently  blind  hate,  blind  prejudice, 
blind  haste  to  decide,  any  blind  passion  or  habit  makes 
obedience  difficult,  if  not  impossible.  Complex,  vague,  and 
essentially  indescribable  in  its  details  as  is  the  emotional 
nature  that  would  most  spontaneously  assist  to  realize  the 
spirit  of  international  law,  its  essential  characteristic  lies 
clearly  in  view,  and  consists  in  the  substitution  in  place 
of  blind  passion  or  inclination,  which  is  entirely  absent, 
of  reflective  and  controlled  feeling.  Fierce,  stern,  deter- 
mined, severe,  persistent  feeling  is,  on  proper  occasion, 
quite  in  place.  But  headlong,  unreasoning  feeling  is 
always  vicious. 

And,  while  in  detail  virtuous  feeling  towards  alien 
nations  and  peoples  cannot  be  described,  some  further 
specification  is  yet  possible.  First,  just  as  municipal  law 
assumes  that,  opportunity  having  been  provided,  individu- 
als will  defend  their  rights,  so  international  law  proceeds 
upon  the  assumption  —  without  which  it  would  be  absurd 
—  that  each  nation  may  be  relied  on  to  maintain  its  rights 
and  defend  its  interests,  while  leaving  the  protection  of 
other  nations  to  their  own  self-interest.  The  virtuous 
man  accordingly  constitutes  himself  part  guardian  of  his 
country's  rights.  He  is  determined  that  no  right  shall  be 
sacrificed  through  default  of  proper  defence  on  his  part, 
but  rather  that  every  right  shall  be  defended  by  every  legit- 
imate, pi-acticable,  and  sensible  means.  Recognizing  how 
international  law  is  growing  up,  he  is  even  inclined  to 
help  modify  the  law  —  by  non-observance  if  necessary, 
which  is  the  only  possible  method  where,  as  often  happens, 
treaty  is  not  available  —  if,  deliberately  and  of  full  assur- 


BENEVOLENCE  277 

ttnce,  he  is  convinced  that  any  given  provision  is  unjust  to 
his  country.  But  the  virtuous  man  has  a  healthy  sense  of 
proportion,  and  is  aware  that  different  rights  are  of  differ- 
ing importance,  and  are  therefore  respectively  entitled  to 
more  and  to  less  energetic  defence.  War,  for  instance,  is 
a  possible  remedy  only  if  the  right  infringed  is  very  impor- 
tant. The  virtuous  man  is  not  inclined  to  mend  a  pen- 
knife with  a  trip  hammer.  Secondly,  however  serious  the 
injury  to  his  country,  warlike  feeling  is  slow  to  assume 
turbulent  proportions  in  the  virtuous  man.  Of  equal 
strength  with  his  determination  to  defend  his  country's 
rights,  is  his  determination  to  defend  them  by  peaceful 
methods  if  that  is  at  all  possible.  Of  course,  this  does  not 
mean  that  he  would  continue  to  pursue  peaceful  methods, 
if  war  was  ultimately  inevitable,  and  would  be  more  merci- 
ful and  more  likely  to  be  successful  if  engaged  in  at  once. 
A  surgeon  should  resort  to  a  painful  and  dangerous  opera- 
tion, if  delay  would  only  necessitate  an  operation  more 
painful  and  more  dangerous.  And  similarly  the  virtuous 
man  would  not  reject  the  heroic  method  of  resort  to  war, 
if  at  any  time  milder  methods  would  be  relatively  ineffec- 
tive. 

Probably  the  highest  type  of  the  advocate  is  the  best 
example  of  the  virtuous  man  in  international  relations. 
His  oflBce  is  to  look  out,  according  to  his  station,  for  the 
rights  and  interests  of  his  countr}',  and  his  assumption 
is  that  the  citizens  of  other  countries  will  look  out  for 
theirs.  The  virtuous  man  would,  accordingly,  defend  his 
country  as  he  would  himself,  with  quiet  dignity,  with 
effectiveness,  and  without  effort  disproportionate  to  the 
emergency.  But,  if  it  is  asked  whether  the  virtuous 
man  would  always  be  the  advocate  of  his  country's  action, 
the  answer  must  be  in  the  negative.  For  the  virtuous 
man  has  two  aims,  first  that  his  country's  rights  shall  be 
respected,  second  that  his  country  shall  respect  the  un- 
doubted rights  of  other  nations.     And,  with  human  nature 


278  ETHICS 

as  it  is,  this  dual  purpose  may  compel  the  virtuous  man  to 
oppose  his  country's  action.  If  all  citizens  were  judicial 
and  judicious,  all  would  insist  on  respecting  both  the  rights 
of  their  country  and  the  undoubted  rights  of  its  rivals.  But 
human  nature  is  not  so  constituted,  and  accordingly  there 
are  often  two  parties  on  international  questions,  with  vir- 
tuous men  in  both.  Indeed,  the  decision  of  these  ques- 
tions in  the  interest  of  welfare  is  most  likely  to  be  attained 
when  they  are  fought  out  by  opposing  parties  within  each 
of  the  nations  involved.  Men  with  certain  endowments 
can  best  advocate  their  country's  rights,  men  with  others, 
the  rights  of  its  rivals.  Virtue  is  possible  to  men  on  either 
side,  and  virtuous  men  are  needed  on  both  sides. 

Hostility  to  Internal  Public  Enemies.  —  Much  has  been 
written  about  criminal  law  and  about  the  punishment  of 
criminals,  and  in  outline  their  history  is  not  difficult  to 
trace.  In  general  it  may  be  said  that  four  purposes  have, 
in  succession,  dominated  in  the  treatment  of  criminals  and 
of  those  accused  of  crime.  At  first  the  central  aim  was 
to  wreak  vengeance,  then  to  threaten  and  inflict  such 
heavy  penalties  as  to  deter  from  crime,  then  to  protect 
society  from  criminals  by  putting  them  where  they  could 
do  no  further  harm,  and  finally  to  reform  criminals,  and 
thus  to  help  them  and  society  too.  The  sketch  to  be  given 
presently  will  make  this  development  plain.  Meanwhile 
it  should  be  said  that  while  it  is  convenient  to  speak  of 
internal  public  enemies  as  criminals,  the  designation  is  not 
accurate  for  early  times,  nor  indeed  until  the  dawn  of 
civilization,  for  up  to  that  time  there  were  no  criminals, 
properly  so-called,  and  that,  on  the  other  hand,  with  the 
appearance  of  civilization,  and  even  now,  there  are  many 
internal  public  enemies  who  are  not  recognized  as  crimi- 
nals, and  whose  acts  are  not  specifically  designated  as 
crimes  on  the  statute  books.  But  after  this  explanation 
the  public  enemies  in  question  can  be  called  criminals 
without  confusion,  and  the  practice  will  be  adopted  in  the 


BENEVOLENCE  279 

present  section,  as  there  is  no  other  single  word  that  con- 
veys the  meaning  so  well. 

In  early  times  the  only  crimes  punished  were  those 
against  the  authority  of  a  chief  or  king.  He  and  his  rules 
had  been  outraged,  and  he  and  his  oflBcers  saw  that  the 
penalty  was  paid.  No  doubt  his  authority  was  supported 
by  society  generally,  but  yet  the  affront,  though  to  a  per- 
son in  authority,  was  to  him  personally.  It  thus  happened 
that  in  early  times  criminals  were  treated  in  the  spirit  of 
private  vengeance.  Harm  had  been  suffered,  and  the 
natural  impulse  was  to  do  harm  in  return.  Thirst  for 
vengeance  called  out  for  satisfaction,  and  there  was  little 
care  and  not  much  concern  to  discover  the  probable  cause 
of  the  injury,  to  determine  the  guilt  or  innocence  of  the 
person  picked  out,  or  to  devise  just  or  effective  measures 
of  punishment.  Hatred  and  vengeance  were  aroused,  and 
they,  unaided,  were  the  instigators  of  action. 

But  a  change  began  to  appear  when  the  criminal  courts 
arose.  And  as  the  origin  and  development  of  the  crimi- 
nal courts  in  England  is  well  known,  and  is  typical  of 
their  origin  and  development  elsewhere,  the  history  of 
that  process  may  be  sketched  here,  to  give  an  idea  of  the 
process  in  general.  In  England  criminal  law  had  its  ori- 
gin a  little  before  the  dawn  of  civilization,  the  only  crimes 
recognized  and  punished  in  the  beginning  being  those 
committed  against  "  the  king's  peace,"  or  on  "  tlie  king's 
highway."  The  theory  was  that  the  king  had  been  dis- 
turbed and  his  authority  defied.  Accordingly,  only  out- 
rages committed  at  or  about  the  seat  of  the  king's  residence 
and  on  his  highways  were  treated  as  crimes.  But  later 
the  king's  judges  were  sent  farther  and  still  farther  on  cir- 
cuit, till  the  whole  land  was,  or  was  sought  to  be,  protected 
by  the  king's  peace.  And  with  the  establishment  of  courts 
acting  in  the  name  of  the  king,  and  their  activity  in  deal- 
ing with  crimes  throughout  the  kingdom,  quite  a  change 
of  spirit  appeared,  thirst  for  vengeance,  which  is  a  personal 


280  ETHICS 

feeling,  giving  way  gradually  to  a  stern  determination  to 
suppress  crime,  which  is  an  oflScial  feeling.  Thus,  with 
the  growth  in  regularity  and  power  of  the  king's  courts, 
deterrence  came  to  be  placed  alongside  of  vengeance  as  an 
aim  in  the  punishment  of  criminals.  Death,  mutilation, 
torture,  unwholesome  dungeons,  starvation,  neglect,  each 
and  all  came  to  be  inflicted  upon  the  apprehended  crimi- 
nal, and  even  upon  the  suspect.  In  England  the  king's 
courts  began  about  the  time  of  the  Norman  conquest,  and 
not  long  after  that  deterrence  appeared  as  a  leading  pur- 
pose. In  time  it  came  to  be  the  chief  aim  in  punishment, 
and  continued  to  be  such  till  nearly  the  end  of  the  eigh- 
teenth century  in  England,  though  prevention,  and  even 
reformation,  had  earlier  been  recognized  as  proper  ends 
in  dealing  with  criminals  in  Holland  and  Belgium.  To 
indicate  the  severity  of  punishment  in  his  day  Blackstone 
pointed  out  that  there  were  some  one  hundred  and  sixty 
capital  crimes,  among  them  grand  larceny,  which  consisted 
in  stealing  a  sum  greater  than  twelvepence,  embezzlement 
of  a  master's  goods  by  a  servant,  burning  sacks  of  corn  or 
other  farm  products  in  the  night-time,  killing  horses,  sheep, 
and  other  domestic  animals,  even  malicious  tearing  or  de- 
facing of  garments  of  persons  passing  in  the  streets.  To 
be  sure,  in  Blackstone's  day,  criminal  procedure  had  been 
improved,  and  accused  persons  had  some  chance  to  defend 
themselves,  and  had  the  benefit  of  counsel  and  of  much 
more  rational  rules  of  evidence.  Compurgation  and  wager 
of  battle  had  long  since  given  place  to  trials,  with  the 
examination  of  witnesses  and  some  investigation  of  evi- 
dence. But  these  are  rather  questions  of  means.  The 
prime  end  was  still  deterrence. 

The  first  noteworthy  advance  in  England  beyond  the  de- 
terrence principle  was  inaugurated  during  the  last  quarter 
of  the  eighteenth  century  by  John  Howard,  in  his  success- 
ful advocacy  of  humane  treatment  for  criminals  and  other 
prisoners.      Taking  advantage   of  the   opportunities   for 


BENEVOLENCE  281 

observing  the  state  of  prisons  given  him  by  his  office  as 
sheriff,  he  visited  all  the  jails  and  prisons  of  his  shire,  then 
those  of  England,  and  finally  those  of  the  continent  of 
Europe.  His  examinations  were  very  careful,  and  were 
made  during  two  round  trips  over  the  extended  field  indi- 
cated, the  second  being  undertaken  because,  by  the  end  of 
the  first,  Howard  was  convinced  that  his  inexperience  had 
led  him  into  many  errors  of  observation  and  judgment. 
The  prisons  he  found  to  be  foul,  damp,  underground  for 
the  most  part,  and  devoid  of  sanitary  care ;  the  food  was 
scant  and  unwholesome,  and  the  prisoners  were  entirely  at 
the  mercy  of  their  jailers.  The  details  are  too  revolting 
and  inhuman  to  bear  recounting.  Summing  up  the  results 
of  his  observations,  Howard  made  several  reports  to  the 
English  Parliament,  and,  in  addition  to  being  voted  the 
thanks  of  that  body,  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  the 
enactment  of  two  practical  measures  of  reform,  by  which 
fees  were  abolished,  and  better  sanitation  provided  for. 
Both  of  these  acts  were  eminently  practical.  Prior  to  the 
first  all  prison  expenses  were  paid  out  of  the  fees  extorted 
from  the  prisoners,  who  were  consequently  entirely  at  the 
mercy  of  their  jailers.  Frequently  men  and  women  entirely 
innocent  of  any  offence  against  the  laws  were  kept  impris- 
oned for  an  indefinite  period,  because  they  could  not  pay 
up  their  prison  fees.  After  the  passage  of  the  act  prisons 
and  jails  were  maintained  at  public  expense,  and  those  in 
charge  of  them  were  put  on  salaries.  Two  provisions  of 
the  second  act,  that  prisoners  should  be  put  in  underground 
dungeons  only  when  no  other  course  was  possible,  and  that 
cells  should  be  scraped  and  whitewashed  at  least  once  a 
year  and  kept  clean  in  the  intervals,  will  give  some  idea 
of  the  rudimentary  reforms  it  undertook  to  accomplish. 
Even  in  England  other  attempts  at  reform  were  made 
before  Howard's,  but  his  were  the  first  to  bear  practical 
fruit. 

Out  of  the  small  beginnings  made  by  Howard,  and  by 


282  ETHICS 

philanthropists  of  his  type  in  other  lands,  have  grown  the 
gratifying  improvements  that  have  been  made  in  the  treat- 
ment of  criminals  during  the  present  century.  In  all  civ- 
ilized countries  the  prisons  are  now  sanitary,  the  food  is 
wholesome,  if  simple  and  not  overattractive,  and  accused 
persons  are  given  ample  opportunities  to  prove  their  inno- 
cence, opportunities  so  ample  that  there  are  some  misgivings 
lest  mercy  to  them  be  pushed  to  the  point  of  indifference 
to  social  welfare.  And  interest  in  further  improvement 
is  very  great.  The  science  of  criminology  undertakes  to 
investigate  all  facts  pertaining  to  crime  and  criminals,  the 
science  of  penology  all  pertaining  to  punishments  and 
their  effects.  And  besides  there  are  many  associations  and 
congresses  that  concern  themselves  with  investigations  into 
various  phases  of  the  problem  of  crime,  and  with  more 
immediately  practical  endeavours  to  aid  in  its  solution. 
Even  the  influences  that  lead  up  to  crime  are  studied,  and 
attempts  are  made  to  counteract  them  and  to  rescue  their 
victims  from  the  danger  of  becoming  criminals.  Then 
trials  are  considered  with  a  view  to  making  them  fair, 
punishments  are  considered  with  a  view  to  making  them 
just  to  criminals  and  to  society,  and  the  conditions  in  which 
discharged  criminals  find  themselves  are  studied,  and 
attempts  are  made  to  improve  these  conditions,  with  a  view 
to  giving  discharged  criminals  as  good  a  start  as  possible, 
and  society  the  best  chance  possible  of  recruiting  efficient 
workers. 

And  the  trend  in  these  movements  throughout  civilized 
countries  is  plain  to  see.  Vengeance  and  deterrence  are  no 
longer  leading  considerations.  It  is  seen  that  the  suffering 
of  the  man  who  has  injured  others  of  itself  helps  no  one. 
It  hardens  the  criminal,  and  besides  cultivates  an  inhuman 
spirit  in  the  injured  that  lowers  him  and  hurts  society. 
And  the  methods  of  deterrence  by  cruel  punishment  and 
threats  are  seen  to  be  ineffective,  for  they  have  been  given 
full  trial  and  have  been  found  not  to  deter.     In  place  of 


BENEVOLENCE  288 

these  aims  two  others  have  appeared  to  take  the  leading 
place.  The  first  aim  is  to  protect  society  from  men  who 
show  by  character,  training,  and  acts  that  they  will  almost 
surely  injure  society,  and  even  to  give  such  education  and 
training  as  will  tend  to  prevent  the  young  from  becoming 
criminals.  The  second  aim  is,  wherever  it  is  at  all  possible, 
to  reform  criminals  and  transform  them  into  useful  mem- 
bers of  society. 

And  these  two  aims,  so  characteristic  of  the  most 
advanced  and  wisest  nations,  indicate  plainly  the  nature  of 
benevolence  in  this  field.  The  attitude  of  the  benevolent 
men  would  of  course  in  general  be  one  of  hostility  to 
criminals,  for  by  definition  they  are  members  of  the  state 
who  injure  the  state.  The  inclination  of  the  virtuous  man 
would  be,  on  appropriate  occasions,  to  prevent  crime  by 
thwarting  the  criminal,  to  protect  society  from  the  crim- 
inal, and  to  transform  the  criminal  into  an  honest  man. 
But  hostility  to  criminals  would  not  be  undiscriminating, 
nor  would  it  be  blind.  In  the  first  place,  as  was  seen  in 
discussing  responsibility  in  Chapter  II,  there  are  two  kinds 
of  criminals  —  those  who  are  dangerous  but  blameless,  and 
those  who  are  both  dangerous  and  blameworthy.  The  first 
are  like  storms  and  famines,  or,  better,  like  microbes,  wild 
beasts,  snakes,  and  other  animals  who  are  dangerous  through 
no  fault  of  their  own.  Where  the  choice  is  between  lesser 
suffering  to  them,  through  incarceration  or  some  other 
method  of  protecting  society,  and  greater  suffering  to 
society,  through  a  weak  leniency  to  them,  the  former  is 
evidently  the  proper  course,  and  the  one  the  virtuous  man 
would  be  inclined  to  pursue.  And  where  reform  is  possi- 
ble, the  advantage  to  the  criminal  and  to  society  justifies 
a  considerable  infliction  of  suffering  and  inconvenience 
on  either  or  both  to  accomplish  that  desired  end,  and  the 
benevolent  man  would  not  shrink  from  inflicting  what  is 
necessary.  But  towards  criminals  of  this  type  the  benevo- 
lent man  would  feel  no  indignation  and  no  sense  of  con- 


284  ETHICS 

demnation,  any  more  than  he  would  towards  a  storm  or  * 
famine.  He  would  not  desire  that  they  should  smart,  or 
experience  a  sense  of  remorse,  any  more  than  he  would 
desire  such  feelings  in  the  man-eating  tiger,  for  neither  is 
to  blame,  and  to  feel  blameworthy  would  be  to  feel  inappro- 
priately. But  where  the  criminal  is  to  blame  the  attitude 
of  the  benevolent  man  takes  on  an  added  severity.  He 
condemns  the  criminal,  has  a  feeling  of  righteous  indigna- 
tion towards  him,  desires  the  punishment  to  sting,  and 
hopes  that  remorse  may  arise  as  the  condemnation  of  the 
criminal  in  his  own  breast,  for  such  a  criminal  is  to  blame, 
and  until  he  feels  himself  to  blame  moral  progress  is  impos- 
sible for  him.     All  this  is  plain  from  Chapter  II. 

But,  in  the  second  place,  hostility  to  the  criminal  never 
makes  the  virtuous  man  blind  to  the  criminal's  rights  or 
to  the  wrong-doing  of  society.  If  society  is  unjust  to  the 
criminal,  it  becomes  a  wrong-doer,  and  as  such  deserving 
of  the  hostility  of  the  benevolent  man,  while  the  criminal 
becomes  the  wronged,  and  as  such  entitled  to  the  three 
kinds  of  protection  mentioned  as  the  due  of  society  in  the 
last  paragraph.  And,  again,  it  is  by  the  contest  of  parties 
that  opposing  rights  are  each  maintained  as  human  nature 
is.  So  here,  as  in  the  case  of  public  hostility,  the  benevo- 
lent man  may  defend  the  rights  of  the  criminal  against 
the  wrongful  attacks  of  society's  representatives,  or  may 
take  the  part  of  society  against  the  criminal,  doing  the 
one  or  the  other,  depending  upon  the  party  in  which  he» 
the  benevolent  man,  happens  to  belong  in  different  cases. 

Briefly,  the  benevolent  man  is  hostile  to  crime  and  ta 
criminals,  but  his  hostility  is  discriminating,  is  clear  sighted, 
is  impartial  when  there  are  crimes  on  both  sides,  in  a  word, 
is  judicial. 

Hostility  to  Private  Enemies.  —  The  general  principles 
of  enmity  are  by  this  time  plain,  and,  as  these  principles 
are  not  essentially  different  in  the  case  of  private  enmity^ 
extended  treatment  of  this  case  will  not  be  necessary. 


BENEVOLENCE  285 

At  first  enmity  suffered  gives  rise  to  the  crude  demand 
for  vengeance.  Suffering  is  demanded  in  return  for  suf- 
fering experienced.  Little  care  is  taken  to  identify  the 
injurer,  to  settle  his  responsibility  for  the  injury,  or  to 
decide  on  the  punishment  to  be  exacted.  The  question  at 
that  eariy  time  is  not  one  of  rights  but  of  feelings. 

But  coincidently  with  the  growing  up  of  the  criminal 
courts,  private  enmity  becomes  a  judicial  matter.  It  must 
be  carefully  ascertained  whether  the  injury  suffered  was 
unwarranted,  what  man  was  responsible  for  it,  and  what 
redress  is  legitimate.  Some  cases  are  still  allowed  to  be 
settled  without  the  intervention  of  the  courts,  but  cases 
of  grave  injury  must  be  settled  by  the  courts.  And  the 
judicial  spirit  is  demanded  in  all  cases,  whether  settled  in 
or  out  of  court.  Of  course  the  judicial  spirit  is  not  alwayB 
shown.  Indeed,  in  some  case  of  extreme  stress  it  is  con- 
sidered all  but  humanly  impossible  to  act  in  a  judicial 
spirit  at  the  present  stage  of  advancement.  At  present 
judicial  action  in  some  cases  of  insolent  injury  is  a  counsel 
of  perfection  no  doubt.  But  it  must  be  remembered  that 
the  perfectly  or  objectively  moral  man  is  being  described, 
and  of  his  judiciousness  there  can  be  no  doubt. 

What  has  been  said  of  judicial  and  reflective  decision 
must  not  be  allowed  to  obscure  the  fact  that  the  best 
practice  and  opinion  give  evidence  that  some  wrongs  call, 
and  always  will  call,  for  immediate,  and  at  times  violent, 
redress.  Whatever  he  may  or  may  not  be,  the  virtuous 
man  is  not  deficient  in  spirit.  But  to  have  spirit  is  not 
to  be  injudicious,  in  this  any  more  than  in  any  other 
case.  The  wrongs  that  call  for  immediate  remedy  are 
sufficiently  familiar,  and  the  virtuous  and  well-poised  man, 
without  need  for  thinking  them  out  afresh,  recognizes 
them  at  a  glance,  and  partly  knows,  partly  feels,  what  is 
the  best  remedy  for  them.  In  the  cases  under  considera- 
tion, actions,  to  be  judicious,  must,  among  other  things,  be 
prompt  and  strong.     And  in  fact  the  actions  of  some  of 


286  ETHICS 

the  most  eminent  judges  show  these  two  characteristics  to 
a  marked  degree  on  appropriate  occasions.  The  problem 
of  prompt  remedy  is  but  one  out  of  many  similar  problems, 
but  there  is  no  space  to  consider  any  others  here. 

To  state  the  conclusion  in  a  few  words :  (1)  the  virtuous 
man  experiences  private  enmity,  but  only  towards  wrong- 
doers, i.e.  those  guilty  of  unwarranted  injury,  from  whom 
he  has  suffered  in  person  or  in  some  other  private  interest ; 
and  (2)  virtuous  private  enmity  does  not  override  the 
rights  of  the  wrong-doer.  In  other  words,  the  enmity  of 
the  virtuous  man  is  aroused  when  the  rights  of  man  are 
attacked  in  his  person,  and  then,  while  he  imposes  on  his 
assailant  the  responsibilities,  he  also  respects  in  him  the 
rights  of  man.  A  man's  hostility  towards  those  who  at- 
tack society  does  not  cease  to  be  virtuous  when  society 
is  attacked  through  him.  But  hate  is  swallowed  up  in 
condemnation,  anger  in  indignation. 

And  there  are  the  same  limitations  here  as  in  the  two 
cases  previously  considered.  It  is  generally  best  that 
wrong-doers  should  arouse  the  hostility  of  the  wronged. 
This  is  the  principle  of  the  courts,  which  secure  redress  for 
private  wrongs  only  when  asked  to  do  so,  and  no  other 
more  effective  principle  has  so  far  been  devised.  But  the 
injured  man  has  the  right  of  forgiveness,  and  occasionally 
when  injured  the  benevolent  man  feels  no  hostility,  but, 
on  the  contrary,  is  the  advocate  of  his  injurer.  And  such 
advocacy  may  be  for  the  general  good.  Christ  so  acted  on 
many  occasions,  and  the  beneficial  consequences  of  his 
actions  are  being  felt  to-day. 

§  3.    Friendly  Feeling 

In  passing  from  the  lowest  savages  to  the  most  highly 
civilized  peoples,  i.e.  from  the  least  to  the  most  prosperous- 
communities,  friendly  feeling  among  the  members  of  the 
communities  is  seen  to  change  in  two  ways,  (1)  each  indi- 
vidual's friendly  feeling  is  seen  to  spread  out   over   an 


BENEVOLENCE  •    287 

increasing  number  of  persons,  and  (2)  the  feeling  comes 
to  attach  itself  not  only  to  individuals,  but  to  a  growing 
number  of  increasingly  efficient  organizations  and  institu- 
tions within  each  society.  These  two  developments  will 
be  taken  up  in  turn. 

The  Broadening  of  Friendly  Feeling,  —  Even  among 
animals  friendly  feeling  exists,  as  is  instanced  in  the  affec- 
tion and  mutual  service  in  families  and  among  members  of 
the  same  bands.  But  friendly  feeling  there  is  very  rudi- 
mentary. And  among  savages  sympathy  for  others  is 
narrow,  shallow,  and  brief.  Suffering  in  other  groups 
is  not  considered  at  all,  and  suffering  within  any  group  is 
considered  only  by  the  family  or  household  of  the  sufferer, 
and  even  by  them  consideration  for  the  sufferer  will  not 
stand  a  long  or  a  heavy  strain.  One  of  the  most  striking 
things  about  savages  and  lower  barbarians  is  that  among 
them  there  are  so  few  aged,  sick,  or  maimed.  But,  while 
this  gives  an  appearance  of  healthier  life,  the  fact  is  that 
those  mentioned  are  not  observed  because  they  are  allowed 
to  die  of  want  or  exposure,  or  are  killed,  as  are  all  those 
who  are  incapable  of  caring  for  themselves  and  who  are  of 
no  use  to  others.  Such  inconsiderate  treatment  springs 
partly  from  necessity  no  doubt,  being  called  for  by  the 
precarious  conditions  of  existence,  and,  in  case  of  savages, 
by  their  nomadic  life.  But,  however  necessary  it  may  be, 
callousness  to  suffering  is  what  makes  this  inconsiderate 
conduct  possible. 

With  higher  barbarism  and  civilization  the  classes  men- 
tioned appear.  Indeed,  it  may  be  said  that  they  soon  swarm. 
For,  coincident  with  earliest  civilization,  Confucianism, 
Buddhism,  Christianity,  or  Mohammedanism  appears,  and 
these  religions  strongly  urge  the  duty  of  helping  the 
needy  and  ailing,  making  many  promises  to  the  charitable, 
and  among  them  the  promise  of  great  rewards  in  the  life 
to  come.  Thereupon  mendicants,  many  of  them  impostors, 
become  distressingly  numerous,  and  at  first  the  broadened 


288  ETHICS 

sympathy  is  merit-making  rather  than  genuine.  But 
through  listening  to  the  appeal  of  the  suffering  from  lower 
motives,  and  because  of  the  influence  of  other  forces  already 
suggested,  sympathy  in  time  comes  to  be  genuine.  And 
friendly  feeling  broadens  so  that  it  extends  beyond  the 
family  and  takes  in  other  members  of  the  group  who  seem 
to  be  suffering,  until  among  modern  civilized  nations  any- 
one suffering  distress  or  injustice  can  rely  on  the  genuine 
sympathy  of  his  compatriots  if  he  can  only  get  their 
attention. 

And  friendly  feeling  does  not  stop  at  national  boun- 
daries. Distress  in  any  country,  e.g.  in  England,  France, 
Germany,  the  United  States,  awakens  sympathy  in  the 
other  countries,  in  so  far  as  it  is  known  by  their  peoples. 
Many  of  the  humane  provisions  of  international  law  are 
inspired  almost  as  much  by  sympathy  for  suffering  human- 
ity, as  by  the  selfish  concern  of  each  nation  for  its  own 
well-being.  In  striking  cases,  and  when  weaker  peoples, 
e.g.  the  Indians,  the  Cubans,  the  Boers,  the  Armenians,  are 
concerned,  the  sympathy  that  is  felt  often  degenerates  into 
sentimentality.  Indeed,  sympathy  and  kindness  do  not 
stop  with  mankind,  but  extend  downward  and  are  felt 
towards  animals.  Societies  for  the  prevention  of  cruelty 
to  animals  exist  in  nearly  all  the  larger  and  in  most  of 
the  smaller  cities,  and  anti-vivisection  societies  are  not 
uncommon. 

And  further  evidence,  cogent  if  indirect,  showing  the 
spreading  out  of  friendly  feeling  is  to  be  found  in  the 
steady  growth  in  size  of  integral  or  sovereign  commu- 
nities, as  advance  is  made  from  savagery  to  civilization. 
This  is  well  shown  by  the  following  table  borrowed  from 
Mr.  Sutherland's  Origin  and  G-rowth  of  the  Moral  Instinct 
(Vol.  I,  p.  366):  — 

Lower  Savages,        average  of   8  races,  40 

Middle  Savages,       average  of    6  races,  150 

Higher  Savages,       average  of  33  races,  360 


BENEVOLENCE  289 

Lower  Barbarians,  average  of  30  races,  6,600 ;  towns  up  to        1,000 

Middle  Barbarians,  average  of  35  races,  228,000  ;  towns  up  to  20,000 
Higher  Barbarians,  average  of  61  races,  442,000 ;  towns  up  to  100,000 
Lower  Civilized,  average  of  23  races,  4,200,000  ;  towns  up  to  260,(»00 
Middle  Civilized,  average  of  8  races,  5,600,000  ;  towns  up  to  400,000 
Higher  Civilized,  average  of  30  races,  24,000,000  ;  towns  up  to  1,000,000 
Lower  Cultured,'     average  of  14  races,  30,000,000 ;  towns  up  to  6,000,000 

Among  the  lowest  savages  the  average  society  num- 
bers some  40  members,  while  among  the  most  advanced 
peoples  the  average  society  numbers  some  30,000,000  of 
inhabitants.  Again,  and  equally  significant,  is  the  num- 
ber of  inhabitants  in  urban  settlements.  Among  savages 
there  are  no  towns ;  among  the  "cultured"  it  rises  to  6,000,- 
000.  It  goes  without  saying  that  much  besides  friendly 
feeling  —  for  instance,  suitable  experience  and  aptitude 
for  working  harmoniously  in  political,  industrial,  and  other 
organizations  —  is  needed  to  hold  large  societies  togetlier. 
But,  if  not  the  only  factor,  friendly  feeling  is  a  funda- 
mental and  indispensable  characteristic  for  any  society 
•which  is  to  be  at  all  securely  unified.  There  must  at  least 
be  among  the  members  of  such  a  society  so  much  absence 
of  hostile  feeling  as  will  prevent  them  from  indulging  in 
systematic  mutual  attack  upon  one  another;  and  there 
must  be  sufficient  good-will  to  insure  mutual  assistance  in 
case  of  need.  When  during  the  war  of  1894  it  appeared 
that  the  bulk  of  China  was  indifferent  to,  indeed  scarcely 
cognizant  of,  the  Japanese  invasion,  all  competent  observers 
discovered  that  China  was  an  empire  in  little  more  than 
name.  And  history  furnishes  many  another  example, 
though  none  probably  is  any  more  striking  than  this  one. 
In  short,  since  friendly  feeling  among  its  members  is  one 
of  the  factors  necessaiy  to  hold  any  society  together,  the 

*  Mr.  Sutherland's  classification  is  more  detailed  than  usual,  and  con- 
tains a  class,  the  last,  that  is  not  commonly  recognized.  But  for  the 
present  purpose  of  showing  increase  in  size  of  communities,  as  they  grow 
in  well-being,  these  minor  differences  are  unimportant  What  Mr. 
Sutherland  calls  cultured  peoples,  the  text  calls  highly  civilized  and  wcll- 
4o-do  peoples. 


290  ETHICS 

larger  a  well-unified  society  is,  the  broader  is  the  spread 
of  the  friendly  feeling  (the  adjective  being  used  in  its 
largest  sense)  among  its  members.  Or,  to  put  the  same 
truth  in  another  form,  only  as  friendly  feeling  attaches 
itself  to  a  broader  range  of  persons,  is  it  possible  for 
societies  to  increase  in  size  without  falling  asunder. 

Nor  is  it  difficult  to  discover  why  increase  in  size  is  fol- 
lowed by  advance  in  civilization  and  well-being.  Of  course 
civilization  and  well-being  follow  only  when  increase  is  not 
purchased  at  the  cost  of  well-knit  unification,  —  in  other 
words,  only  when  the  increase  in  size  is  permanent,  and 
not  a  temporary  increase  succeeded  by  disruption  of  the 
larger  society,  and  consequent  decrease  in  size.  Again,  it 
must  be  remembered  that  it  is  not  size  merely  as  a  mathe- 
matical fact  that  makes  for  civilization  and  prosperity. 
But  size,  given  proper  organization,  means  relative  security 
from  external  attack,  and  also  internal  variety  and  conse- 
quent resource.  Whether  a  society  grows  from  its  own 
loins  or  by  absorption  of  adjacent  population,  either  by 
immigration  or  by  treaty  or  conquest,  the  society  is  more 
powerful  among  other  integral  societies,  provided  it  can 
manage  its  increased  bulk  effectively.  For,  whichever  the 
mode  of  growth,  a  greater  variety  of  territory  is  levied  on 
for  the  satisfying  of  human  needs,  and  a  richer  variety  of 
individuals  are  exercising  their  capacities  to  the  same  end. 
In  larger  societies,  which  are  otherwise  efficient,  more 
wants  are  supplied  in  more  resourceful  ways,  and  the 
resultant  satisfactions  can  be  enjoyed  in  greater  security. 

On  the  whole,  the  evidence  is  amply  sufficient  to  show 
that  as  men  have  grown  in  civilization  and  prosperity  their 
friendly  feelings  have  become  more  catholic,  until  now  the 
majority  of  civilized  men  feel  a  humane  good-will  towards 
most  of  their  fellows,  and  towards  many  animals.  This 
humane  feeling  is  no  doubt  for  the  most  part  dormant, 
and  probably  it  is  inaccurate  to  say  that  it  is  actually  felt, 
but  the  feeling  is  dormant  because  each  man  knows  and 


BENEVOLENCE  291 

sees  but  few  of  bis  fellows,  while  it  is  real  in  the  sense  that 
as  occasions  present  themselves  the  feeling  in  fact  appears. 

Loyalty  to  Organizations.  —  In  an  earlier  chapter  some- 
thing was  said  of  the  natural  human  interest  in  quasi- 
persons,  which  are  chiefly  organizations.  Recalling  that 
discussion,  it  is  now  to  be  pointed  out  that  that  interest, 
rising  at  times  into  fervid  devotion,  is  an  ever  growing  and 
increasingly  effective  form  of  good-will. 

Among  the  lowest  savages  these  interesting  organizations 
consist  of  the  family,  the  horde  or  tribe,  and  a  few  mysti- 
cal societies  with  semi-religious  purposes.  When  savages 
of  a  higher  type  and  barbarians  are  observed,  it  is  found 
that  the  governmental  machinery  has  become  less  central- 
ized, and  includes  a  number  of  subordinate  bodies  that 
perform  their  respective  shares  of  political  work,  and  that 
each  of  these  bodies  commands  the  devotion  of  some  men. 
And  it  is  also  found  that  within  the  state  many  secret 
societies,  with  religious  and  juristic  functions,  have  grown 
up,  and  that  they  also  command  a  devotion  from  their 
members  that  is,  very  naturally,  largely  tinged  with  fear. 

In  the  most  advanced  nations,  secret  societies  that 
resort  to  intimidation  tend  to  disappear ;  but  the  number 
of  organizations  that  arouse  the  sympathies  and  incite  the 
energies  of  men  notably  increases,  and  the  functions  many 
of  them  perform  are  of  very  great  importance.  "  Amer- 
ica," says  Professor  Giddings,  "is  sociologically  a  vast 
plexus  of  free  associations,  most  of  which  are  perfectly 
free  in  their  objects  and  methods."^  And  the  same  may 
be  said  of  the  other  advanced  nations,  though  free  asso- 
ciation is  especially  characteristic  of  America  and  England. 

Dividing  the  organizations  under  discussion  into  the  non- 
voluntary, into  which  men  are  born,  and  in  which  as  human 
beings  they  must  continue,  and  those  which  are  free  and 
voluntary  in  their  initiation  and  in  their  management,  under 
the  first  head  may  be  grouped  the  major  and  minor  politi- 
1  Elements  of  Soc.,  p.  200. 


292  ETHICS 

cal  units  —  central  government,  states  or  provinces,  coun- 
ties, municipalities,  etc.,  and  the  family,  while  under  the 
latter  will  fall  free  political,  juristic,  economic,  and  cul- 
tural associations.^  The  nature  of  the  governmental  or- 
ganization, and  of  the  various  bodies  of  which  it  consists, 
and  the  nature  of  the  family  are  probably  plain.  Nor  is  it 
necessary  to  point  out  the  interest  that  men  take  in  the 
efficiency  and  prosperity  of  these  bodies.  Interest  in  the 
family  has  already  been  discussed.  And  without  a  minimum 
of  devotion  to  it,  government  could  not  exist,  while  the 
greater  the  interest  in  and  devotion  to  the  government  of 
any  state,  the  greater,  other  things  being  equal,  and  pro- 
vided the  government  is  reasonably  efficient,  the  prosperity 
of  the  state,  and  the  greater  the  efficiency  with  which  it 
can  serve  the  interests  of  its  members. 

Passing  to  voluntary  organizations,  the  state  must  be 
mentioned  first.  For  the  state,  as  distinguished  from  the 
government,  is  consented  to  by  its  component  members, 
if  not  deliberately  devised  by  them.  Without  the  loyalty 
of  the  people,  no  state  could  hold  together,  and  loyalty 
consists  precisely  in  voluntary  devotion  to  the  state. 
Ranking  after  the  state,  among  political  associations  come 
political  parties,  large  and  small,  clubs  partly  political  and 
partly  social  in  purpose,  societies  for  political  reform,  e.g. 
those  interested  in  the  civil  service,  in  voting  methods, 
in  the  temperance  problem,  in  tenement-house  conditions, 
etc.  Among  economic  associations  may  be  mentioned 
organized  bodies  of  employers  and  employees,  partner- 
ships, corporations,  trusts,  labor  unions,  federations  of 
labor,  etc.  Juristic  associations  include  boards  of  arbi- 
tration, societies  aiming  to  secure  the  enforcement  of 
laws,  e.g.  those  regarding  cruelty  to  animals,  the  employ- 
ment of  children  in  factories,  the  issuance  of  licenses  and 
the  closing  of  saloons,  and  also  secret  societies  of  a  law- 

*  The  classification  of  associations  follows  Professor  Giddings's  Elements 
0/  Soc,  Ch.  XVUL 


BENEVOLENCE  293 

less  character,  which,  however,  are  as  a  rule  thought 
to  be  for  the  public  good  by  their  members,  e.g.  the  Ku 
Klux  Klan,  the  White  Caps,  societies  of  anarchists,  etc. 
Cultural  associations  are  very  numerous.  They  include 
churches,  educational  institutions,  charity  organizations, 
fraternal  associations,  and  a  great  many  others. 

All  the  associations,  whether  expressly  named  or  merely 
indicated,  are  bodies  of  men  organized  with  the  purpose 
of  ministering  more  efficiently  to  some  chosen  interests 
than  would  be  possible  by  isolated  and  unorganized  en- 
deavour. Devotion  to  these  organizations  and  earnest 
interest  in  the  fulfilment  of  their  purposes  is  but  an  indi- 
rect mode  of  devotion  to  and  interest  in  the  human 
and  sentient  beings  who  are  their  chosen  beneficiaries. 
Through  the  instrumentality  of  associations  each  man  can 
reach  a  large  number  of  his  fellows  whom  he  could  not 
hope  to  assist  were  he  to  undertake  the  task  alone.  Inter- 
est in  associations  is  thus  an  indirect  but  highly  effective 
form  of  good-will.  Through  the  state,  for  instance,  and 
its  agent  the  government,  individuals  can  benefit  their 
fellow-countrymen,  and,  as  history  has  recently  shown, 
those  who  are  not  their  countrymen  or  even  members  of 
the  same  race.  His  government  is  man's  best  though 
not  his  only  instrument  for  aiding  humanity  and  minis- 
tering to  the  advancement  and  happiness  of  mankind. 

It  appears,  then,  that  in  proportion  as  societies  advance 
there  is  a  wider  spread  and  an  increasingly  effective 
organization  of  friendly  feeling:  men  come  to  be  actuated 
by  friendly  feelings  towards  a  larger  number  of  their  fellow- 
beings,  and  they  come  to  resort  to  organization  as  a  more 
effective  method  of  rendering  the  assistance  to  which  tlieir 
feelings  prompt  them.  Moreover,  that  this  dual  develop- 
ment of  human  nature  makes  for  the  general  good  is 
plain,  alike  because  benevolence  is  commended  as  a  cardi- 
nal virtue,  because  mutual  sympathy  or  good-will  is  evi- 
dently one  of  the  strongest  forces  making  for  the  cohesioa 


294  ETHICS 

of  society,  which  itself  is  the  most  potent  instrument  for 
the  increase  of  welfare,  and  because  the  nations  with  this 
important  endowment  enjoy  the  greatest  well-being.  So 
much  has  been  insisted  on  in  several  places,  and  needs 
no  further  discussion. 

§  4.     The  Benevolent  Individual 

But  nothing  has  so  far  been  said  to  indicate  what  incli- 
nations will  actuate  each  benevolent  individual.  Evi- 
dently each  individual  does  not  experience  a  like  measure 
of  benevolence  towards  all  his  fellows,  nor  a  like  measure 
of  interest  in  all  organizations.  Indeed,  if  every  one  made 
it  his  business  to  help  every  one  else,  and  if  every  associa- 
tion had  a  membei-ship  including  all  mankind,  much  less 
would  be  accomplished  than  actually  is.  It  is  only  by 
specialization  and  division  of  labor  that  efficiency  can  be 
attained.  The  questions  accordingly  are.  What  individ- 
uals and  organizations  must  a  man  devote  himself  to  in 
order  to  be  benevolent?  and.  What  principles  must  be 
adopted  in  selecting  the  persons  and  quasi-persons  to 
whom  a  special  good-will  is  to  be  shown? 

Three  points  may  be  considered  sufficiently  plain.  (1) 
The  benevolent  man  feels  well  disposed  towards  all  men  and 
other  sentient  creatures,  and  towards  all  organizations  that 
aid  them.  The  welfare  of  all  sentient  beings  is  the  ulti- 
mate end,  and  any  one  who  without  cause  bears  ill-will  to 
any  other,  is  in  so  far  not  benevolent  or  objectively  moral. 
But  on  the  background  of  this  general  good-will  stand  out 
special  feelings  that  vary  from  man  to  man,  and  constitute 
the  individual  characters  of  benevolent  men,  feelings  that 
in  the  main  fall  into,  two  opposed  classes.  For  (2)  the 
benevolent  man  will  feel  hostility  in  reply  to  unjust 
attack  on  himself  or  on  any  other  person  or  interest  for 
whose  defence  he  is  responsible,  and  (3)  each  benevolent 
individual  will  feel  partiality  or  preferential  good-will 
towards  certain  individuals  and  institutions. 


BENEVOLENCE  295 

As  to  hostility  probably  enough  has  been  said.  In  the 
virtuous  man  hostility  only  arises  when  it  is  justified  by 
wrongful  injury,  and  then  the  remnants  of  rights  to  which 
the  injurer  is  still  entitled  are  respected,  and  the  remnant 
of  good-will  necessary  for  such  respect  is  still  experienced. 

And  as  to  preferential  good-will,  the  facts  are  plain 
enough  in  outline,  and  no  serious  diflBculty  will  be  experi- 
enced in  reaching  a  conclusion  which  will  be  satisfactory 
as  far  as  it  goes,  if  not  very  concrete.  There  are  namely 
certain  preferential  feelings  the  benevolent  man  is  ex- 
pected to  have,  and  on  the  whole  these  feelings  have 
changed  remarkably  little  from  first  to  last.  These  feel- 
ings will  first  be  mentioned,  and  then  the  principles  of 
selection  manifested  in  them  will  be  pointed  out. 

Special  Good-will.  —  It  is  not  usual  to  class  special  inter- 
est in  self  as  a  benevolent  feeling,  but  evidently  it  is  a 
fundamentally  important  favourable  feeling,  and  as  such 
falls  under  benevolence  as  the  word  is  here  used.  It  is 
important  because  on  it  in  part  the  whole  of  society  is 
organized.  This  was  pointed  out  in  discussing  hostility 
to  private  enemies,  and  besides  is  plain  of  itself.  Sentient 
welfare  is  made  up  of  the  welfare  of  each  of  the  sentient 
beings,  and  the  best  way  of  securing  the  latter  is  to  make 
it  the  business  of  each  to  secure  his  own  welfare ;  no  one 
else  can,  on  the  whole,  do  so  as  well.  Besides,  there  has 
never  been  a  time  when  reasonable  interest  in  self  was  not 
commended,  as  is  seen  from  the  fact  that  those  who  have 
not  protected  themselves  have  always  been  held  in  some 
contempt,  as  being  deficient  in  spirit. 

And  no  less  important  than  special  interest  in  self  is 
special  family  feeling.  Parents  and  children  who  have 
not  a  special  aflfection  for  one  another  are  regarded  as 
unnatural,  and  as  unvirtuous  and  unbenevolent  besides. 
Nor  could  a  society  long  survive  in  which  special  family 
feeling  was  absent. 

Friendship  is  another  feeling  present  in  the  benevolent 


296  ETHICS 

man.  When  he  admits  congenial  persons  to  intimacy,  he 
is  expected  to  be  specially  inclined  towards  them  and 
ready  to  serve  them,  and  is  further  expected  to  remain 
loyal  to  them  as  a  friend,  unless  they  lose  claim  to  his 
friendship  because  of  their  conduct.  It  is  impossible  to 
specify  the  amount  and  kind  of  good-will,  the  extent  to 
which  loyalty  would  go,  or  indeed  the  number  of  friends 
that  the  benevolent  man  would  have.  But  a  man  who 
has  no  friends  is  not  thought  benevolent,  any  more  than  is 
a  man  who  is  not  fond  of  his  friends  or  who  gives  them 
up  too  easily. 

Very  similar  are  the  requirements  of  benevolence  with 
respect  to  the  feelings  to  be  entertained  towards  organi- 
zations voluntarily  joined.  A  man  who  is  not  actively 
interested  in  any  beneficent  free  organization  is  thought 
to  be  unduly  self-centred,  indifferent,  and  unsocial.  And 
of  course  the  benevolent  man  will  have  a  special  interest 
in  the  organizations  to  which  he  belongs  and  will  be  loyal 
to  them.  As  to  which  he  shall  associate  himself  with,  that 
his  inclinations  must  decide.  There  have  been  times  and 
places  where  public  conscience  required  membership  at 
least  in  a  church,  and  others  where  membership  in  a  poli- 
tical party  was  required,  but  it  is  hard  to  say  whether  or 
not  the  former  is  still  considered  essential  to  benevolence, 
while  the  latter  probably  is  not. 

Again,  benevolence  has  always  called  for  special  good- 
will to  neighbours,  compatriots,  members  of  the  same  race, 
human  beings,  and  the  living,  as  such,  and  also  special 
good-will,  e.g.  patriotism,  to  the  organizations  that  under- 
take to  serve  the  interests  of  these  fellow-beings.  There 
are  reasons  for  preferential  good-will  in  each  of  the  cases 
mentioned,  which  can  be  easily  seen,  and  which  moreover 
will  be  pointed  out  presently. 

Finally,  benevolence  has  always  required  gratitude  for 
benefits  received,  and  also  pity  or  effective  charitable  feel- 
ing towards  those  in  special  need. 


BENEVOLENCE  297 

There  are  other  fonns  of  emotional  partiality,  but  they 
are  either  special  cases  of  those  mentioned,  or  else  are 
relatively  unimportant,  and  in  either  case  do  not  require 
specific  mention. 

Conditions  jtatifying  Special  Good-will.  —  And  now, 
passing  to  the  principles  of  selection  operative  in  the  pref- 
erential feelings  mentioned,  two  principles  will  be  at  once 
apparent :  first,  that  special  good-will  should  be  relative  to 
the  structure  of  society,  and  second,  that  it  should  approxi- 
mate to  the  inclinations  of  normal  human  nature.  As  to 
the  first  principle,  special  interest  in  self,  in  family,  in 
country,  all  the  special  interests  mentioned  are  in  harmony 
with  the  structure  of  society,  and  are  justified  for  that 
reason.  Moreover  the  form  that  each  species  of  benevo- 
lence takes  from  time  to  time  varies  with  the  structure 
of  society.  The  special  form  of  family  feeling  approved 
during  the  prevalence  of  polyandry,  or  that  approved 
when  polygyny  prevails,  is  not  approved  when  the  family 
is  on  a  monogamous  basis,  nor  is  the  monogamous  form  of 
family  feeling  appropriate  under  polyandry  or  polygyny. 
The  patriotism  of  the  benevolent  subject  of  a  monarchy  is 
out  of  place  in  the  citizen  of  a  republic.  The  neighbour- 
liness that  becomes  rural  settlers  is  not  called  for  from 
citizens  of  a  large  municipality.  The  hospitality  that 
characterized  days  before  travel  was  general  and  hotels 
plentiful  is  no  longer  required  to-day.  Of  course  society 
must  have  structure.  Amorphous  and  unorganized  rabbles 
of  men  cannot  serve  welfare  or  any  other  end.  But  if  nat- 
ural feelings  and  inclinations  war  against  the  structure  of 
society,  they  war  against  welfare,  and  are  therefore  malev- 
olent, though  not  necessarily  consciously  so  or  malicious.* 

And  as  to  the  second  principle  of  selection,  a  glance  at 
the  list  will  make  it  apparent  that  the  preferential  feelings 
approved  approximate  the  normal  endowments  of  human 

» To  be  inclined  to  change  the  structure  of  society  In  the  way  of 
improTement,  is  not  to  war  against  the  structure,  but  against  its  defects. 


298  ETHICS 

nature,  and  a  little  further  consideration  will  make  it  plain 
why  only  these  approximations  to  normal  inclinations  are 
considered  benevolent.  For,  in  order  that  society  should 
have  structure,  it  is  necessary  that  there  should  be  a  preva- 
lent type  of  character,  leading  to  normal  modes  of  action. 
Without  such  a  basis  of  agreement  in  the  characters  of  its 
members,  no  social  structure  can  be  securely  established. 
And  it  naturally  follows  that  any  too  considerable  varia- 
tion from  the  normal  emotional  character  wars  against  the 
social  structure  and  against  welfare,  and  is  therefore  un- 
benevolent.  And,  of  course,  the  benevolent  man  not  only 
approximates  to  the  normal  feelings  of  man  as  a  human 
being,  but  also  to  the  special  normal  feelings  of  the  nation, 
and  even  of  the  community  to  which  he  belongs. 

But,  while  these  two  principles  of  selection  are  domi- 
nant, and  any  special  feelings  that  do  not  accord  with  them 
are  unbenevolent,  four  minor  principles  may  also  be  detected. 

In  the  first  place,  only  approximation  to  normal  endow- 
ment is  required,  and  a  considerable  deviation  is  still  con- 
sistent with  benevolence.  Individuality  and  specialization 
are  as  useful  in  feeling  as  in  action,  and  in  fact  they  are 
useful  in  the  former  because  they  are  useful  in  the  latter. 
John  Howard,  the  greatest  of  prison  reformers,  mentioned 
in  §  2,  was  abnormally  deficient  in  family  feeling,  but  his 
compassionate  good-will  was  so  well  developed  in  his 
chosen  field,  that,  while  he  probably  failed  of  perfect 
benevolence,  his  approximation  to  that  virtue  was  cer- 
tainly closer  than  that  of  any  but  the  most  virtuous  men. 
It  is  for  the  general  good  that  the  bulk  of  men  should  be 
endowed  with  closely  similar  inclinations  that  will  there- 
fore be  normal,  but  it  is  also  for  the  general  good  that 
there  should  be  individuals  here  and  there  with  great  con- 
centration of  emotional  interests  in  some  directions,  and 
consequent  deficiencies  in  other  directions.  Voluntary 
associations,  formal  and  informal,  offer  the  principal  out- 
lets for  unusually  strong  inclinations. 


BENEVOLENCE  299 

And,  in  the  second  place,  the  opportunities  of  each  indi- 
vidual normally  point  to  him  as  the  fittest  to  care  for  hira- 
«elf,  for  his  family,  for  his  friends,  for  his  neighbours,  for 
his  compatriots,  for  his  country-,  for  the  members  of  his 
race,  for  human  as  distinguished  from  other  living  beings, 
and  for  his  contemporaries.  Thus  special  opportunity  to 
aid  seems  to  be  another,  and  a  very  obvious,  though  not 
an  imperative,  ground  for  requiring  preferential  good-will. 
Voltaire's  advice  to  "  cultivate  your  garden,"  and  George 
Eliot's  similar  advice  to  do  the  duty  nearest  to  hand,  are 
far  from  exhausting  morality,  but  they  do  suggest  one  of 
its  components.  Moreover,  the  principle  justifies  itself. 
For  where  each  takes  advantage  of  opportunity,  the  avail- 
able human  energy  will,  other  conditions  being  equally 
favourable,  make  the  greatest  possible  contribution  to  the 
welfare  of  all.  Of  course  special  opportunity  does  not 
merely  consist  in  spatial  and  temporal  contiguity.  Among 
other  things,  there  must  in  addition  be  knowledge  of  the 
opportunity,  and  ability,  indeed  special  fitness,  to  take 
advantage  of  it. 

And,  in  the  third  place,  special  feeling  on  the  part  of 
each  individual  is  called  for  towards  those  who  have  per- 
formed, or  give  promise  of  performing,  special  services  for 
him  or  for  interests  in  which  he  is  concerned.  The  benevo- 
lence of  gratitude  rests  on  this  basis  of  desert,  and  special 
feeling  towards  self,  family,  friends,  countrymen,  etc.,  also 
normally  rests  in  part  on  it,  as  special  service  is  likely 
to  come  to  each  individual  from  these  sources.  Again, 
admiration  for  ability,  respect  for  high  endowment,  etc., 
fall  under  this  head.  For,  even  where  men  of  ability  and 
high  endowment  have  not  yet  performed  special  service, 
they  give  promise  of  doing  so,  and  in  so  far  have  what 
may  be  called  potential  desert.  Not  infrequently  potential 
desert  calls  forth  greater  good-will  than  actual  desert,  for 
man's  admiration  for  exceptional  powers  is  very  great,  and 
no  doubt  the  preference  is  as  a  rule  justified.     But,  with- 


300  ETHICS 

out  discussing  that  question,  it  is  evident  that  the  general 
good  is  promoted  by  encouraging  the  serviceable  rather 
than  the  unserviceable  members  of  society. 

Finally,  on  the  benevolence  of  charitable  feeling,  i.e.  of 
special  good-will  to  those  in  special  need,  there  is  no  need 
to  enlarge.  For  centuries  charity  and  benevolence  were 
considered  synonymous,  and  by  some  they  seem  to  be  so 
considered  to-day.  In  justification  of  this  special  feeling 
it  may  be  suggested,  that  the  greater  the  need  is,  the 
greater  the  service,  that  the  potentialities  of  human  nature 
are  sufficiently  great  to  render  it  advisable  to  help  men 
who  have  lost  their  footing  on  to  their  feet,  and  to  learn 
thereby  how  to  prevent  similar  failures  in  the  future,  and 
that  every  human  being  is  sacred  and  his  welfare  a  proper 
object  of  concern. 

Of  course  it  sometimes  happens  that  two  or  more,  possi- 
bly that  all  of  these  six  principles  of  selection  are  satisfied, 
and  the  greater  the  number  satisfied  the  more  assuredly 
benevolent  is  the  preferential  friendly  feeling.  Where 
special  good-will  is  an  entirely  natural  feeling,  is  harmo- 
niously accordant  with  the  social  structure,  is  a  normal 
human  feeling,  is  aroused  on  occasion  of  a  special  oppor- 
tunity for  service,  and  is  experienced  towards  a  deserving 
person  who  is  in  special  need,  the  feeling,  provided  it  is 
appropriate  in  kind  and  degree,  is  fully  benevolent.  And 
where  less  than  all  six  conditions  are  fulfilled,  it  is  securely 
benevolent  in  proportion,  roughly  speaking,  to  the  number 
fulfilled. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  there  are  cases  of  conflict  among 
the  conditions.  A  preferential  friendly  feeling  that  is  out 
of  harmony  with  the  social  structure,  say  such  a  feeling 
towards  a  foreign  country,  or  towards  another  man's  wife, 
or  towards  an  utterly  unworthy  object,  is  likely  to  be 
unbenevolent,  even  though  the  person  arousing  the  feeling 
is  in  special  need,  or  a  special  opportunity  presents  itself. 

And,  on  the  whole,  it  will  be  observed  that  the  princi- 


BENEVOLENCE  301 

plea  determining  what  preferential  friendly  feelings  are 
benevolent  are  far  from  concrete  and  exact.  But  feelings 
are  too  indefinitely  bounded  to  be  susceptible  of  exact 
description.  A  benevolent  man  may  be  identified  when 
he  appears,  but  the  plans  and  specifications  of  benevolence 
cannot  be  fully  set  down,  for  benevolence  is  once  for  all  a 
matter  of  example  rather  than  of  precept.  Moreover,  in 
order  to  insure  perfect  beneficence,  the  feelings  must  be 
supplemented  and  guided  by  the  will  and  the  judgment, 
and  what  the  characteristics  of  the  perfect  judgment  are, 
has  yet  to  be  specified,  so  far  as  may  be,  in  the  next  three 
chapters. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

Justice  * 

§  1.    The  Problem 

The  main  purpose  of  the  chapter  is  to  discover  the 
qualities  that  characterize  the  just  man.  But  we  shall 
here  seek  to  accomplish  that  purpose  by  discovering  and 
describing  just  and  unjust  conduct.  This  will  be  the  best 
course  because  justice  is  a  virtue  of  the  intellect,  for  a  man 
is  just  in  so  far  as  he  has  a  comprehensive  idea  of  the 
system  of  actions  that  constitute  objective  morality.  To 
be  sure,  unless  a  man  is  also  brave,  temperate,  benevolent, 
and  wise,  he  cannot  be  just,  but  with  the  fact  of  the  inter- 
dependence of  the  cardinal  virtues  we  are  already  suffi- 
ciently familiar.  In  addition  to  having  a  comprehensive 
understanding  of  the  system  of  just  conduct,  if  a  man  is  to 
be  just,  he  must  have  the  will,  the  inclination,  and  the 
wisdom  to  put  his  knowledge  into  practice  :  let  that  fact 
be  stated  here  once  for  all.  Moreover,  it  will  be  remem- 
bered that  justice  consists  of  knowledge  of  a  code,  in 
contrast  with  wisdom,  which  consists  of  insight  into  an 
indescribable  ideal.  The  just  man  knows  the  relatively 
settled,  recognized,  and  definite  system  of  actions  that 
makes  up  objective  morality. 

Now  this  system  of  actions  with  which  the  just  man  is 
to  be  familiar  is  very  complex  and  comprehensive.  The 
just  man  must  know  the  boundaries  in  all  directions 
beyond  which  a  man  may  not  transgress  without  doing 
injustice  or  wrong  to  others.      He  must  know  what  ia 


JUSTICE  303 

wrong  or  unjust,  and  that  with  respect  to  every  man, 
including  himself,  and  every  class  of  men,  with  respect  to 
men  in  all  the  various  relations  of  life.  And  the  just  man 
must  also  know  what  rights  men  have  to  the  services  of 
their  fellows,  what  of  a  positive  nature  each  man  must  do 
for  all  other  men  and  classes  of  men.  The  just  man,  in 
short,  knows  the  rights  that  each  man  has  relative  to  all 
other  men,  and  all  the  breaches  of  rights  and  duties  that 
constitute  wrongs.  Such  a  system  of  ideas  is  extremely 
extensive  and  complicated. 

How  then  is  ethical  science  to  frame  a  systematic  idea 
of  these  mutual  rights  and  duties,  that  will  be  accurate, 
i.e.  make  no  mistaken  inclusions,  adequate,  i.e.  omit  no 
essential  elements,  and  objective,  i.e.  authoritative,  or  some- 
thing more  than  individual  opinion  ? 

One  thing  is  plain.  No  solitary  thinker  can  hope  to 
succeed,  whatever  his  acumen,  his  breadth  of  view,  and  his 
cautious  determination  to  make  only  such  statements  as 
are  fully  objective.  At  least  no  solitary  thinker  can  suc- 
ceed without  aid  from  some  objective  source.  No  man  can 
evolve  a  satisfactory  scheme  of  justice  out  of  his  own  inner 
consciousness. 

As  in  the  case  of  any  other  phenomenon,  justice  can 
best  be  studied  in  its  best  examples.  And,  objective 
justice  being  that  system  of  actions  that  best  ministers  to 
social  welfare,  the  best  systems  of  justice  so  far  devised 
are  the  systems  that  prevail  in  the  nations  that  enjoy  the 
greatest  welfare  so  far  achieved.  Such  systems  do  not 
embody  ideal  justice,  but  they  do  embody  the  nearest 
approximations  to  ideal  justice  that  is  open  to  human 
observation  and  study.  No  doubt  the  justice  that  prevails 
among  the  angelic  hosts  is  superior  to  any  devised  by  man. 
But  unfortunately  we  have  no  way  of  observing  angelic 
justice. 

Following  this  mode  of  approach  it  is  not  very  diffi- 
cult to  select  with  suflficient  accuracy  the  nations  whose 


804  ETHICS 

welfare  is  the  greatest.  In  all  essential  respects  the 
European  nations  of  to-day,  together  with  their  offshoots 
on  other  continents,  give  evidence  of  enjoying  sounder 
judgment  and  greater  welfare  than  any  other  peoples  of 
the  present  or  past.  This  is  true  whether  consideration  be 
had  for  the  security  of  life,  limb,  and  property,  for  the  wide 
prevalence  of  economic  and  of  consequent  physical  well- 
being,  for  popular  enlightenment  and  scientific  activity, 
for  virtuous  and  efficient  character,  or  for  all  combined. 
Doubt  is  occasionally  expressed  as  to  the  preeminence 
of  the  nations  mentioned  in  art  and  religion,  but  it  is  not 
seriously  asserted  that  they  are  far  behind  their  predecessors 
in  these  respects,  nor  is  it  maintained  that,  when  all  things 
are  duly  considered,  the  deficiencies,  if  they  exist,  are  suf- 
ficiently marked  to  relegate  the  European  nations  to  an 
inferior  rank. 

But  little  danger  as  there  is  in  selecting  the  systems  of 
justice  of  these  nations  as  more  thorough  and  trustworthy 
embodiments  of  justice  than  any  others  the  world  has  seen, 
the  next  step,  consisting  in  the  effort  to  discover  what  these 
several  systems  are,  is  an  extremely  difficult  one  to  take 
securely.  To  mention  only  a  few  among  the  difficulties, 
each  of  the  nations  has  a  system  of  its  own  differing  more 
or  less  from  other  systems ;  the  life  of  each  nation  covers 
many  years,  in  some  cases  several  centuries,  and  each 
system  has  constantly  changed  and  is  still  changing  owing 
to  education,  legislation,  and  other  causes ;  and  each  nation 
is  made  up  of  millions  of  individuals,  no  two  of  whom, 
probably,  would  agree  in  describing  its  system  of  justice. 
Moreover,  the  practices  of  the  many  millions  of  individuals 
differ  widely.  And  of  course  it  is  the  systems  that  actually 
prevail  that  have  been  declared  to  be  the  best  working 
systems  so  far  devised.  It  is  not  the  systems  that  men 
think  about  and  talk  about  and  demand  in  conversation. 
It  is  the  systems  that  they  actually  work  into  their  actions 
in  the  everyday  business  of  living  that  affect  the  welfare 


JUSTICE  305 

■of  nations.  That  is  what  was  approved  as  the  highest 
example  of  justice,  that  was  to  be  studied  and  understood. 
It  is  sufficiently  difficult  to  describe  such  a  system  as  it 
exists  in  one  nation,  and  the  task  would  seem  to  be  more 
complicated  still  when  a  comparative  view  of  the  subject 
is  desired. 

§  2.    Legal  Justice  as  the  Basis  for  a  Description  of  Moral 

Justice 

Indeed,  the  task  would  be  far  too  vast  for  human  powers 
were  the  problem  to  be  solved  ah  initio.  But  fortunately 
this  is  not  the  case.  In  its  system  of  laws  as  administered 
by  its  courts,  every  civilized  state  has  an  actually  operative 
system  of  justice.  And  the  most  practical  plan,  a  plan  on 
the  whole  very  satisfactory,  is  to  rest  back  on  this  legal 
system  in  framing  our  ideas  of  moral  justice.  Of  course 
legal  justice  cannot  be  gulped  down  as  a  whole,  or  trans- 
ferred as  it  stands  and  in  its  entirety  into  ti'eatises  on 
Ethics.  Caution  must  be  observed  and  limitations  pointed 
out,  as  will  be  done  presently.  But  legal  justice  is  the 
best  basis  on  which  to  found  an  accurate,  adequate,  and 
objective  or  authoritative  notion  of  what  justice  is.  Some 
reasons  of  a  general  nature  in  justification  of  this  assertion 
will  first  be  advanced,  and  then  the  relations  of  legal  and 
moral  justice  will  be  more  specifically  discussed. 

General  Reasons  for  accepting  Legal  Justice  as  the  Basis. 
—  In  the  first  place,  the  plan  is  practical.  Difficult  as  it 
is,  it  is  still  possible  to  discover  the  principles  of  justice  as 
administered  by  the  courts.  The  courts  keep,  and  always 
to  some  extent  have  kept,  records  which  can  be  studied. 
There  are  codes,  digests  of  opinions,  reports,  and  other 
sources  where  the  principles  of  legal  justice  can  be  spelled 
out.  Moreover,  there  are  legal  text-books  and  treatises  of 
a  more  general  character,  to  which  the  untechnical  student 
can  turn  for  information.  All  these  means  for  acquiring 
knowledge  of  the  law  are  difficult  to  use  and  understand. 


306  ETHICS 

But  with  patience  even  the  untechnical  inquirer  can- 
understand  a  great  deal  with  regard  to  the  principles. 
of  legal  justice,  and  by  cooperation  between  students 
of  morals  and  students  of  law,  much  will  no  doubt  be 
eventually  accomplished. 

Besides,  the  mode  of  approach  suggested  simplifies  the 
task  of  discovering  the  systems  of  justice  of  the  civilized 
nations  in  another  respect.  Not  only,  in  place  of  countless 
individuals,  does  it  substitute  comparatively  well  worked 
out  and  plainly  recorded  legal  systems  as  objects  of  study, 
but  in  fact  it  reduces  the  systems  to  be  studied  to  two. 
Incalculably  as  the  European  nations  vary  among  them- 
selves in  other  respects,  their  legal  systems  all  spring  from 
two  sources,  the  Roman  and  the  Teutonic.  The  English 
common  law,  so  called,  is  the  purest  and  most  natural 
development  of  Teutonic  justice ;  in  it  the  Roman  admix- 
ture is  probably  slight.  In  France,  Germany,  Austria, 
Italy,  and  Spain  the  Roman  or  civil  law  is  the  basis, 
though  it  has  been  more  or  less  modified  by  Teutonic 
customs  and  institutions.  In  England's  self-governing 
colonies  the  common  law  prevails,  as  it  does  in  the 
United  States,  with  the  exception  of  two  or  three  states 
first  settled  by  France  or  Spain,  where  some  features  of 
the  civil  law  are  retained.  Accordingly  only  the  civil  and 
the  common  systems  of  law  need  be  considered. 

But  there  are  other  and  more  positive  reasons  for  basing 
the  objective  conception  of  justice  on  legal  justice.  And 
these  will  be  better  understood  if  it  is  first  pointed  out 
that  the  principles  of  legal  justice  are  not  due  to  crude 
legislation,  as  might  be  thought  at  the  present  day,  but 
to  the  continuous  and  cooperative  attempts  at  doing  jus- 
tice in  concrete  cases  that  have  been  made  by  the  courts 
during  the  centuries  of  civilization.  The  principles  of 
legal  justice,  both  in  the  civil  and  the  common  law,  are 
judge-made,  and  they  are  valuable  because  judges  have 
been  men  much  above  the  average  in  ability,  and  with  unex-^ 


JUSTICE  807 

celled  opportunities,  and  the  strongest  incentives  for  reach- 
ing accurate,  adequate,  and  reliable  principles  of  justice. 

Judges  and  lawyers,  from  whose  number  most  judges 
come  in  settled  communities,  have  large  knowledge  of  the 
rights  that  various  men  conceive  themselves  to  possess. 
They  are  not,  as  ethical  writers  are,  under  the  necessity 
of  thinking  out  the  rights  of  men,  with  little  aid  from 
without  their  own  thoughts.  Their  daily  business  con- 
sists in  listening  to  claims  of  injury  to  persons  and  prop- 
erty, and  to  petitions  for  redress,  that  are  opposed  with 
equal  vigor  by  the  very  persons  against  whom  the  com- 
plaints are  made.  Disputes  —  suits,  as  they  are  called  in 
legal  language — arise  because  men  differ  as  to  their  rights 
relative  to  each  other,  and  it  is  with  disputes  that  judges 
and  lawyers  regularly  deal.  The  number  of  views  regard- 
ing rights  and  liabilities  that  have  been  brought  to  the 
notice  of  the  courts  during  the  centuries  it  has  taken  to 
develop  both  the  English  and  the  Roman  law  is  incalcula- 
bly large  ;  and  any  of  these  views  might  have  influenced, 
and  the  more  important  did  permanently  influence,  the 
law. 

Moreover,  the  courts  have  unusual  opportunities  for 
hearing  the  opposing  claims  to  rights  clearly,  adequately, 
and  persuasively  presented.  Although  a  class  of  trained 
advocates  does  not  appear  in  every  land,  or  in  any  at  the 
beginning  of  its  history,  it  appeared  early  in  Rome  and  in 
England,  and  in  both  alike  exercised  large  influence  over 
the  development  of  legal  justice.  By  this  means  each 
party  to  every  suit  has  had  a  trained  representative  of  his 
choice,  competent  to  bring  to  the  court's  attention  the 
facts,  laws,  and  judicial  practices  that  made  for  his  client's 
claim,  and  to  present  them  in  a  persuasive  form.  Natu- 
rally advocates  differ  in  ability,  and  many  causes  are  but 
indifferently  represented.  But  as  a  class  lawyers  have 
ability  above  the  average ;  and  besides,  each  suit  is  insti- 
tuted as  time  goes  on  by  many  plaintiffs,  and  fought  by  as 


308  ETHICS 

many  defendants,  and  it  goes  hard  if  any  plea  or  defence 
does  not  frequently  have  the  services  of  able  advocates. 

Again,  in  deciding  a  case,  the  mind  of  the  judge  is  not 
solely  confined  to  that  case.  His  experience,  his  legal 
reading,  and  the  arguments  of  the  advocates  on  either 
side,  inform  him  of  important  similar  cases,  and  of  the  law 
as  declared  therein,  and  also  recall  to  him  the  familiar 
principles  of  law  and  equity.  Nor  are  the  decisions  of 
any  judge  free  from  the  criticism  of  his  successors,  with 
the  implied  possibilities  of  revision.  Each  judge  is  critical 
of  his  predecessors,  and  subject  to  the  critical  judgment  of 
his  successors  in  office.  Decisions  are  engaged  in  a  con- 
tinual struggle  for  existence,  and  only  the  fittest,  only 
those  that  ultimately  commend  themselves  most  highly 
to  the  judicial  mind,  survive. 

Finally,  judges,  especially  the  higher  judges  who  set- 
tle the  law,  are  held  to  impartiality  by  an  exceptionally 
strong  public  opinion ;  and  moreover,  they  have  no  per- 
sonal acquaintance  with  most  litigants,  and  are  seldom 
tempted  to  be  partial.  To  be  sure,  they  come  mainly 
from  the  upper  classes,  and  share  their  prejudices.  But 
other  learned  men  are  in  much  the  same  plight,  and  igno- 
rant ideas  and  accounts  of  justice  are  not  less  prejudiced. 
In  fact,  there  is  little  serious  reason  for  holding  that  judges 
have  unduly  favoured  the  powerful  classes.  On  the  whole, 
they  have  played  the  part  of  defenders  of  the  weak  rather 
than  the  part  of  abettors  of  the  strong.  Indeed,  during 
the  formative  period  of  the  English  law,  the  chancellors, 
or,  more  precisely,  the  kings  from  whom  they  held  office, 
largely  depended  on  the  masses  to  strengthen  their  hands 
against  the  powerful  barons  who  chiefly  threatened  the 
kingly  power.  Judges,  both  Roman  and  English,  were 
but  human,  and  the  justice  wrought  out  by  them  is  un- 
doubtedly imperfect,  but  there  is  little  risk  in  declaring 
that  no  other  systems  of  justice  so  far  conceived  by  man 
are  any  less  imperfect. 


JUSTICE  809 

These  are  some  of  the  reasons  briefly  stated  for  basing 
the  account  of  justice  on  the  law.  The  case  could 
easily  be  made  stronger,  but  the  weakness  of  the  alterna- 
tive remaining,  if  this  plan  be  abandoned,  renders  this  un- 
necessary. Aside  from  the  courts,  there  nowhere  exists 
a  sustained  and  cooperative  effort  to  work  out  the  idea  of 
justice  into  detail,  and  if  we  turn  from  them  we  must  go 
to  the  other  extreme,  and  depend  on  individual  experience, 
learning,  and  insight.  No  doubt  individuals  of  no  incon- 
siderable wisdom  and  justice  exist,  but  no  individual  can 
compare,  either  in  experience  of  the  many  conflicts  of 
interests,  or  in  apprehension  of  principles  of  justice,  with 
the  combined  and  cooperative  experience  and  insight  of 
the  long  line  of  judges.  If  ethical  investigators  are  to 
build  better  than  jurists,  it  must  be  on  the  foundation  laid 
by  the  latter.  The  unaided  conclusions  of  an  ethical  writer 
are  sure  to  be  meagre,  abstract,  and,  because  of  their  slight 
basis  of  experience,  prejudiced  by  theory. 

But  though  legal  justice  is  a  secure  basis  on  which  to 
found  moral  justice,  the  consideration  of  a  few  of  the 
important  differences  between  law  and  morality  will  serve 
to  suggest  the  uses  of  legal  justice  most  profitable  for 
ethical  theory.  In  discussing  these  differences  the  account 
of  Sir  Frederick  Pollock,  who  has  summed  them  up  so 
lucidly,  will  be  mainly  followed.^ 

The  Law  deals  with  Overt  Acts. — And  firat  it  is  commonly 
pointed  out  that  the  law  does  and  can  only  deal  with  the 
outward  and  manifest  part  of  actions,  while  morality  is 
concerned  with  motives  and  all  the  inner  psychic  forces  of 
character  that  originate  action  and  most  intimately  char- 
acterize it.  As  Sir  Frederick  Pollock  states  the  case,* 
**  The  commandment, '  Thou  shalt  not  steal,'  may  be,  and  in 
all  civilized  countries  is,  legal  as  well  as  moral ;  the  com- 
mandment, *  Thou  shalt  not  covet,'  may  be  of  even  greater 

*  First  Book  of  Jurutprudenee,  p.  45  »q. 
«  Op.  cit.  p.  46. 


310  ETHICS 

importance  as  a  moral  precept,  but  it  cannot  be  a  legal 
one."  And  again,  "With  rare  exceptions  an  act  not 
otherwise  unlawful  in  itself  will  not  become  an  offence  or 
legal  wrong  because  it  is  done  from  a  sinister  motive,  nor 
will  it  be  any  excuse  for  an  act  contrary  to  the  general 
law,  or  in  violation  of  any  one's  rights,  to  show  that  the 
motive  from  which  it  proceeded  was  good."  As  regards 
the  first  quotation  it  is  only  necessary  to  say  that  covet- 
ousness  is  a  matter  of  benevolence  and  in  fact  does  not  any 
more  directly  concern  moral  justice  than  it  does  legal  jus- 
tice ;  it  is  a  matter  of  proper  feeling  and  not  of  the  de- 
scription of  proper  actions.  And  as  regards  both  quotations 
the  fact  may  be  recalled  that  the  present  chapter  is  not 
concerned  with  the  whole  of  morality,  inner  and  outer,  any 
more  than  the  courts  are.  The  motives  with  which  either 
just  or  unjust  actions  are  performed  are  not  at  present 
of  any  interest.  The  purpose  is  to  get  descriptions  as 
detailed  as  may  be  of  the  actions  that  properly  distribute 
benefits  and  injuries,  and  that  are  therefore  right  and  not 
to  be  interfered  with  with  impunity,  and  of  the  actions  that 
improperly  distribute  both,  and  that  are  therefore  wrong 
and  subject  their  agents  to  liabilities  of  various  kinds. 
The  fact  that  the  courts  do  not  consider  motives,  or  in 
general  the  inner  aspects  of  actions,  is  accordingly  no 
ground  of  objection  to  the  use  of  their  conclusions  in  the 
present  connection.  So  far  as  has  yet  appeared,  the  courts 
have  all  along  considered  the  very  subject-matter  under 
discussion  here.^ 

Other  difficulties  often  urged  rest  upon  the  fact  that 
actions  morally  prescribed  and  actions  legally  prescribed 
do  not  coincide  throughout  their  whole  extent.  Some 
actions  legally  prescribed  are  not  founded  on  moral  prin- 
ciples, and  some  actions  morally  binding  are  not  enforced 

1  This  paragraph  and  those  that  follow  are  not  criticisms  of  the  author 
quoted.  He  is  discussing  the  relation  of  morality,  not  the  relation  of 
moral  justice  to  the  law. 


JUSTICE  311 

by  the  courts.  The  relationship  between  moral  and  legal 
justice  is  similar,  so  it  is  urged,  to  that  between  a  circle 
and  an  ellipse  with  the  same  centre  and  with  equal  areas ; 
in  the  main  they  overlap,  but  each  has  ground  peculiar  to 
itself.  It  will  be  well  to  consider  in  order  the  merely 
legal  and  the  merely  moral  actions  that  this  account  of  the 
matter  suggests. 

Merely  Legal  Rules  of  Action.  —  The  class  of  merely 
legal  actions  exists,  but  it  is  much  smaller  than  is  often 
supposed.  Two  legal  rules  often  given  as  examples  of 
this  class  can  be  readily  disposed  of.  The  law  determines 
the  side  to  which  drivers  of  conveyances  on  public  high- 
ways must  turn  when  they  meet,  it  determines  the  pro- 
cedure to  be  observed  in  courts  of  justice  and  the  form 
of  instruments  submitted  as  evidence  of  rights,  and  it  pre- 
scribes many  other  actions  similar  to  each  of  these.  But, 
it  is  urged,  there  is  in  morality  no  reason  whatever  for 
insisting  that  drivers  should  turn  to  the  right  rather  than 
to  the  left,  or  vice  versa^  any  more  than  there  is  for  a  par- 
ticular from  of  procedure  or  instrument,  or  for  the  other 
actions  similarly  prescribed.  The  choice  is  arbitrary  and  is 
not  founded  on  any  moral  principles.  These  statements  are 
true,  and  they  apply  to  a  large  number  of  minor  laws,  but 
they  are  scarcely  to  the  point.  The  simple  fact  is  that  in 
many  situations,  while  any  one  of  several  different  actions 
would  be  equally  serviceable,  the  performance  of  all  these 
actions  at  different  times  would  be  attended  with  consid- 
erable danger  or  great  inconvenience.  Safety  in  some 
cases,  and  in  others  convenience  and  the  saving  of  valu- 
able time,  demand  that  a  settled  mode  of  behaviour  should 
be  adopted  by  all.  And  this  result  can  be  reached  only 
in  one  way,  by  giving  authority  in  some  quarter  to  decide 
what  this  mode  of  behaviour  shall  be.  Of  course  once  the 
choice  is  authoritatively  made,  deviation  from  the  rule  is 
moral  and  unjust,  though  in  many  cases  no  very  serious 
obliquity,  as  is  shown  by  the  light  penalties  attached  ia 


312  ETHICS 

many  cases.  In  short,  the  type  of  prescribed  actions  under 
consideration  are  not  merely  legal,  they  are  morally  bind- 
ing as  well.  The  difference  between  them  and  other  moral 
actions  is  that  they  are  not  derivable  from  more  general 
moral  principles,  but  are  of  necessity  based  on  authorita- 
tive discretion.^ 

Other  prescribed  actions  often  considered  merely  legal 
fall  into  a  class  very  similar  to  the  classes  discussed  in 
the  last  paragraph,  but  differing  from  them  in  importance. 
Individuals,  namely,  are  in  some  cases  required  by  the  law 
not  merely  to  follow  arbitrary  but  necessary  rules,  a  mat- 
ter of  slight  moment  except  to  supersensitive  individual- 
ists, but  to  suffer  losses  and  even  to  repair  damages  due  to 
no  fault  of  their  own.  And  at  first  sight,  it,  no  doubt, 
seems  unjust  that  men  who  are  without  blame  should  suffer 
and  be  punished.  But  a  consideration  of  the  principal 
cases  in  point  may  lead  to  a  different  conclusion.  The  de- 
scriptions are  taken  from  the  author  quoted  above.  "Thus 
a  man  is  liable  in  most  civilized  countries  for  the  wrongful 
acts  and  defaults  of  his  servants  in  the  course  of  their 
employment,  whatever  pains  he  may  have  taken  in  choos- 
ing competent  servants  and  giving  them  proper  instruc- 
tions. "  This  rule  exists  in  every  system  of  law.  "  Again, 
both  Roman  and  English  law  have  made  owners  of  build- 
ings responsible,  in  various  degrees,  for  their  safe  condition 
as  regards  passers-by  in  the  highway,  or  persons  entering 
them  in  the  course  of  lawful  business;  and  this  without 
regard  to  the  amount  of  the  owner's  personal  diligence  in 
the  matter.  Again,  questions  often  arise  between  two 
innocent  persons,  of  whom  one  or  the  other  must  bear  the 

1  Of  course  general  moral  principles  themselves  rest  on  discretion  and 
judgment,  but  that  fact  is  disguised  from  us  by  the  complexity  of  the 
problem  and  is  seldom  felt  as  a  difficulty.  The  acts  above  discussed 
belong  to  the  same  class  as  the  acts  of  obedience  morally  binding  on  chil- 
dren, servants,  and  other  subordinates,  though  constituting  a  distinct 
species  of  the  class. 


JUSTICE  813 

loss  occasioned  by  the  wrongful  act  of  some  one  from 
whom  redress  cannot  be  obtained ;  as  when  a  man  who  has 
obtained  goods  by  fraud  from  their  owner  sells  them  to 
an  unsuspecting  third  person,  and  then  absconds,  leaving 
nothing  behind  him." 

In  fact,  in  these  and  similar  cases  the  appearance  of  in- 
justice arises  from  a  natural  misconception.  It  is  forgotten 
that  men  are  called  on  to  make  sacrifices,  not  merely  in 
punishment  for  faults,  but  quite  as  often  in  proper  recog- 
nition and  requital  of  benefits  received.  Every  individual 
owes  the  state  a  large  debt  for  the  security  it  assures  him 
and  for  other  benefits.  And  while  this  debt  is  normally 
paid,  so  far  as  it  is  paid,  by  proportionate  contributions 
assessed  upon  all,  as  in  the  case  of  taxes,  there  is  no  injus- 
tice in  calling  on  individuals  to  make  other  payments 
towards  their  debt  under  circumstances  where  public  policy 
demands  that  course.  Normally,  servants  are  pecunia- 
rily unable  to  pay  the  injured  person  damages  at  all  com- 
mensurate with  the  injury  inflicted,  and  the  inability  in 
the  case  of  the  weather  and  other  disintegrating  forces 
that  render  buildings  unsafe  is  even  more  apparent.  To 
be  sure,  the  state  might  adjust  such  matters  by  paying 
damages  itself,  to  the  persons  injured,  but,  overlooking 
the  plain  inexpediency  of  such  a  course,  the  simpler  rem- 
edy is  to  draw  on  the  state's  credit  funds  in  the  hands  of 
masters  and  owners,  and  make  the  drafts  payable  to  the 
sufferers,  especially  as  this  course  reduces  sufiFering  of 
these  kinds  to  a  minimum  by  bringing  to  bear  on  owners 
and  masters  powerful  incentives  for  the  exercise  of  unusual 
diligence  and  care.  In  the  third  case  of  the  two  innocent 
persons,  the  explanation,  though  specifically  different,  is 
the  same  in  kind.  The  real  cause  of  the  damage  cannot 
be  effectively  reached,  and,  since  one  of  the  two  persons 
must  suffer  loss,  considerations  of  public  policy,  aided  by 
the  credit  of  the  stite,  must  determine  which  that  shall  be. 
In  the  words  of  Sir  Frederick  Pollock,  "  Citizens  have  an 


314  ETHICS 

equal  chance  of  benefit  as  well  as  burden  under  special 
rules  of  this  kind ; "  and  he  adds,  "  Exposure  to  this  kind 
of  liability  is  part,  and  not  a  large  part,  of  the  price  which 
the  individual  has  to  pay  the  state  for  the  protection 
afforded  by  its  power,  and  the  general  benefit  of  its  insti- 
tutions." All  things  considered,  it  is  safe  to  say  that 
these  rules,  like  those  previously  considered,  are  morally 
just,  as  well  as  legally  binding.^ 

This  disposes  of  the  most  important  cases  of  rules  of 
action  held  to  be  merely  legal,  showing  that  the  rules  in 
question  are  on  the  whole  just  and  necessary.  At  the 
same  time  it  is  not  and  cannot  be  maintained  that  every 
law  and  finding  of  the  courts  is  just.  The  fallibility  of 
judges,  hasty  and  crude  legislation  by  untrained  and  in- 
competent men,  rapid  change  of  conditions  in  industrial 
and  other  directions,  and  other  less  prominent  causes, 
render  it  certain  that  isolated  laws  and  decisions  now  and 
again  work  inconvenience,  hardship,  and  even  positive 
inexcusable  injury.  But  it  can  be  maintained  that  no 
well-defined  class  of  laws  is  unjust  in  principle,  however 
injudicious  may  be  the  working  out  of  the  principles  into 
detail  in  some  cases.  In  each  of  the  main  branches  of  the 
law  there  are  leading  cases,  so  called,  some  of  them  cen- 
turies old,  that  announce  principles  that  have  been  criti- 
cally considered  and  reaffirmed  innumerable  times.  These 
leading  principles,  when  they  appear  in  substantially  the 
same  form  in  the  many  jurisdictions  of  the  common  and  of 
the  civil  law,  may  be  accepted  as  essential  elements  of  the 
objective  conception  of  justice. 

Moral  Justice  Outside  the  Law.  —  It  is  now  necessary  to 
consider  the  unjust  acts  that  the  law  does  not  restrain  and 
the  just  acts  that  it  does  not  encourage.  The  discussion 
must  be  discriminating,  for  the  divergence  is  an  important 
one.  If  it  is  true  that  the  law  wholly  fails  to  consider 
important  kinds  of  unjust  and  just  acts,  the  law  is  not  an 
iCf.  Ch.  n,  §5,  Ch.  XII,  §2. 


JUSTICE  815 

adequate  basis  on  which  to  found  a  comprehensive  idea 
of  justice. 

And  first  some  idea  must  be  had  of  the  opportunities 
enjoyed  by  both  Roman  and  English  judges  for  recogniz- 
ing and  protecting  all  kinds  of  rights  appropriate  to  be 
enforced  by  legal  means,  and  of  the  strong  pressure  exer- 
cised upon  them  by  those  who  conceived  their  rights  to 
have  been  invaded,  and  by  the  natural  ambition  of  the 
judges  themselves  to  supplant  the  lesser  independent 
tribunals  which  in  early  times  shared  jurisdiction  with 
them.  In  the  space  available  it  will  be  impossible  to 
mention  any  but  the  most  salient  facts  under  the  heads 
suggested ;  for  anything  like  an  adequate  account  readers 
must  be  referred  to  the  histories  of  Roman  and  English 
law.^ 

Both  in  regal  and  early  republican  Rome,  and  in  Eng- 
land under  the  Saxon  and  Norman  kings,  justice  was 
administered  by  a  number  of  independent  tribunals.  The 
courts  which  derived  their  authority  direct  from  the  sov- 
ereign power,  and  which  in  time  developed  the  civil  and 
the  common  law,  formed  merely  a  part  of  the  judicial 
aystem  of  each  country,  and  undertook  to  right,  not  all 
wrongs  called  to  their  attention,  but  specific  kinds  of 
wrong  only.  But  in  both  countries,  as  the  central  power 
grew  stronger,  many  causes  conspired  to  abolish  the  lesser 
tribunals  and  to  leave  the  sovereign  courts,  as  they  may 
be  called,  as  the  sole  dispensers  of  justice.  Among  these 
causes  the  most  influential  were  the  legislation  of  the  sov- 
ereign power,  and  especially  the  open-mindedness  and  im- 
partiality of  the  sovereign  courts.  Even  if  such  a  coui-ae 
had  been  otherwise  expedient,  the  central  government  was 
not  secure  enough  of  itself  in  early  times  to  be  willing  to 
incur  the  enmity  that  the  abolition  of  the  lesser  tribunals 

^  E.g.  Muirhead'a  Roman  Law,  Hunter's  Roman  Late,  Ortolan's  Treat(»e 
on  Roman  Law ;  and  Holmes's  The  Common  I^to,  Kerley's  Equity  JurU- 
prudence.  Pollock  and  Maitlaud'a  Ui»tory  of  English  Lava. 


316  ETHICS 

would  have  aroused.  But  it  was  naturally  anxious  to 
secure  for  itself  full  control  over  the  important  function 
of  dispensing  justice,  which  brought  it  into  such  intimate 
contact  with  the  people,  and  as  occasion  permitted  decrees 
and  laws  extended  the  jurisdiction  of  its  courts,  or  enabled 
these  to  extend  their  own  jurisdiction.  In  either  case  the 
sovereign  courts  undertook  to  adjudicate  disputes  that 
only  the  lesser  independent  tribunals  had  previously  con- 
sidered. By  these  means  the  authority  of  the  central 
courts  was  extended  step  by  step,  until  in  both  countries 
the  time  came,  in  the  fifth  centuiy  of  the  city  in  Rome, 
and  in  the  thirteenth  century  in  England,  when  the  courts 
which  developed  the  civil  and  the  common  law  enjoyed 
full  authority  to  consider  and  judge  any  claims  of  inva- 
sions of  rights,  that  they  might  in  their  discretion  think 
proper  subjects  for  such  treatment.^ 

And  if  we  turn  to  the  sovereign  courts  themselves, 
equally  powerful  and,  if  possible,  more  pressing  motives 
appear,  impelling  them  to  extend  their  jurisdiction  and 
render  themselves  supreme.  They  were  naturally  impa- 
tient of  the  rival  jurisdiction  enjoyed  by  courts  deriving^ 
authority  from  inferior  sources,  and  their  sense  of  dignity 
was  offended  in  cases  of  conflict.  Again,  professional 
pride  played  its  part.  As  their  authority  extended,  and 
litigants  came  to  resort  to  them  by  preference  when  choice 
was  open,  because  they  were  better  trained,  more  open- 
minded,  more  free  from  local  and  class  prejudices,  less  in 
danger,  owing  to  their  high  office,  of  being  intimidated 
by  the  powerful,  and  much  better  able  to  enforce  their 
judgments,  the  Roman  praetors  and  their  subordinates, 
and  the  English  king's  chancellors  and  judges,  grew  in- 
creasingly loath  to  turn  litigants  away  on  the  plea  that  the 
particular  dispute  did  not  fall  within  their  cognizance.     If 

1  In  England  the  king's  interest  in  attracting  litigants  from  the  barons' 
and  other  local  courts  was  much  stimulated  by  the  fact  that  the  fees  col- 
lected by  his  courts  constituted  a  large  part  of  his  revenue. 


JUSTICE  317 

the  law  as  strictly  interpreted  disallowed  the  entertain- 
ment of  a  suit,  a  legal  fiction  could  easily  be,  and 
frequently  was,  invented  to  circumvent  the  difficulty. 
Another  source  of  pressure  in  the  same  direction  was  the 
reiterated  insistence  of  plaintiffs.  One  man  or  a  few  men 
complaining  of  a  specific  grievance  over  which  there  was 
no  jurisdiction,  might  be  turned  away  with  cold  comfort, 
but  when  the  same  grievances  were  urged  again  and  again 
by  successive  plaintiffs,  with  increasing  insistence,  judges, 
allowed  broad  discretion  and  willing  to  extend  their  pow- 
ers, could  not  continue  to  refuse  consideration.  INIeans 
were  devised  for  allowing  a  hearing  to  complainant  and 
defendant,  and  for  entering  judgment  and  enforcing  it. 

Under  the  pressure  of  these  powerful  forces,  the  courts 
gradually  extended  the  scope  of  their  operations.  But 
progress  was  slow,  for  they  started  from  a  rude  beginning. 
The  law  of  contract,  the  larger  part  of  the  civil  or  private 
law,  had  to  be  evolved  in  its  entirety,  for  in  archaic  times 
it  did  not  exist.  Indeed,  there  was  then  no  need  for  it. 
Men  were  engaged  almost  exclusively  in  agricultural  and 
pastoral  pursuits,  all  trade  was  barter,  and  it  was  but 
seldom  that  anything  of  value  was  parted  with  in  exchange 
for  the  mere  promise  of  a  quid  pro  quo.  And  the  law  of 
tort,  another  extensive  part  of  private  law,  was  very  rudi- 
mentary. For  injuries  to  the  person,  ranging  from  death 
to  slight  wounding,  to  property,  and  to  reputation,  there 
was  legal  redress  only  in  exceptionally  violent  and  out- 
rageous cases.  When  injured  in  any  of  these  ways,  or 
through  breach  of  a  promise  made  him,  the  individual  had 
to  trust  to  his  own  might  or  to  the  aid  of  his  kindred  for 
redress. 

The  advance  from  this  early  judicial  impotence  and 
inertia  to  the  power  and  willingness  of  civilized  courts 
to  enforce  genuine  and  proper  contracts,  and  to  redress 
genuine  wrongs,  proceeded  in  two  stages  and  along  two 
different  lines.     At  first,  the  courts  were  jealously  watched, 


818  ETHICS 

and  there  was  careful  and  technical  definition  of  the  few 
engagements  or  contracts  they  had  authority  to  enforce, 
of  the  wrongs  they  could  recognize,  and  of  the  redress 
they  could  grant.  During  the  first  period  the  courts  were 
given  but  little  discretion.  Legislation  by  assemblies  and 
kings  prescribed  the  actions  and  forms,  artificial  and  unnat- 
ural, necessary  to  found  a  legal  right,  the  set  phrases,  techni- 
cal and  stiff,  required  in  asserting  injury  received  and  in 
invoking  the  aid  of  the  courts,  and  the  evidence,  mostly 
far  from  cogent,  legally  competent  to  establish  allegations. 
The  only  function  of  the  courts  was  to  consider  the  few 
cases  that  fell  under  the  rules  thus  prescribed,  and  to 
decide  them  in  accordance  with  the  evidence  the  rules 
allowed. 

The  second  period  is  characterized  by  the  confidence  and 
esteem  increasingly  inspired  by  the  courts,  and  by  the 
large,  soon  the  practically  unlimited,  discretion  allowed 
them.  What  cases  should  be  considered,  and,  to  a  large 
extent,  how  they  should  be  determined,  was  not  decided 
grudgingly  by  other  departments,  but  by  the  highest 
officials,  in  Rome  the  praetors,  and  in  England  the  chan- 
cellors, of  the  judicial  department  itself.  For  legislation 
gave  the  courts  discretion  to  consider  and  define  every 
right,  liability,  and  injury  that  the  highest  court  thought 
a  proper  object  of  judicial  cognizance  and  determination. 
Many  minor  laws  contributed  to  this  result,  but  in  Rome 
and  in  England  alike  it  was  chiefly  due  to  a  few  important 
laws. 

In  Rome  it  was  the  ^bution  law,  passed  probably  in 
the  sixth  century  of  the  city,  that  allowed  the  praetors  to 
modify  and  supplement  the  complicated  and  cumbrous 
procedure  'per  legh  actionem^  theretofore  prevailing,  but 
already  proving  inadequate  to  meet  the  increasing  needs 
of  the  growing  city.  By  this  law  the  praetors  were  em- 
powered, as  is  generally  agreed  by  the  authorities  —  the 
text  of  the  law  has  not  been  found  — "  (1)  to  devise  a 


JUSTICE  819 

simpler  form  of  procedure  for  causes  already  cognizable 
per  legis  actionem,  (2)  to  devise  forms  of  action  to  meet 
cases  not  cognizable  under  the  older  system,  and  (o)  them- 
selves to  formulate  the  issue  and  reduce  it  to  writing."  * 
In  other  words,  the  praetors  were  authorized  to  prune  the 
technicalities  of  procedure  that  hampered  the  course  of 
justice  and  debarred  many  causes  from  access  to  the 
courts,  to  extend  jurisdiction  at  their  discretion,  in  order 
to  cover  grievances  theretofore  beyond  judicial  competence, 
and  to  shift  from  litigants'  shoulders  to  their  own  the 
responsibility  for  properly  stating  questions  at  issue,  thus 
sparing  the  former  the  peril  of  missing  justice  from  mere 
technical  fault. 

In  using  this  extensive  discretion  allowed  them  the 
praetors  received  substantial  assistance  from  several  quar- 
ters. In  the  first  place,  they  could  draw  on  a  goodly  work- 
ing knowledge  of  many  different  systems  of  law,  which 
they  had  acquired  as  governors  and  proconsuls,  — or  from 
men  who  held  those  offices,  —  administering,  according  to 
Roman  policy,  the  local  laws  of  conquered  peoples.  Be- 
sides at  Rome  the  peregrine  praetors  adjudicated  disputes 
involving  foreigners,  who  flocked  to  Rome  from  all  quar- 
ters of  the  known  world,  but  to  whom  the  laws  peculiarly 
Roman  did  not  apply,  and  in  so  doing  built  up  the  concep- 
tion of  a  body  of  laws  universally  just  and  applicable  to 
men  of  all  nations  without  distinction,  the  so-called  law 
of  nations  Q'us  gentium)  that  was  largely  influential  in 
simplifying  and  expanding  the  Roman  law.  Again,  the 
Stoic  doctrine  of  a  jus  naturale  —  of  law  as  defining,  not 
the  rights  in  fact  recognized  by  nations,  but  the  rights  of 
man  as  such  (similar  in  general  to  those  declared  in 
modern  bills  of  rights,  which  indeed  were  inspired, 
through  Grotius,  Hobbes,  and  others,  by  the  Stoic  doc- 
trine), was  familiar  to  Roman  jurists,  and  was  woven 
into  the  Roman  law  by  the  praetors,  adding  much  to  its 
iMuirbead,  Roman  Lava,  $  71. 


320  ETHICS 

system  and  consistency.  Finally,  eminent  counsellors,  the 
prudentes,  often  at  once  successful  practitioners  and  pro- 
fessors of  law,  as  they  would  be  called  to-day,  were  impar- 
tial official  advisers  to  the  courts,  and  their  opinions 
(responsa)  set  before  the  prsetors  and  other  judges, 
busied  with  important  cases,  the  wealth  of  Roman  legal 
experience  and  theory. 

Under  the  pressure  of  the  motives  earlier  suggested,  and 
under  the  guidance  of  this  rich  experience  and  theory,  the 
praetors  and  other  magistrates  constantly  added  to  the 
rights  recognized  and  constantly  devised  more  appropriate 
remedies  for  prevalent  wrongs.  Eventually  they  framed 
and  set  alongside  of  legislative  enactments  a  supplement- 
ary body  of  judge-made  law  that  came  to  be  known  as  the 
jus  honorarium.  As  has  been  suggested,  this  supplemen- 
tary body  of  law  grew  up  very  gradually,  but  it  is  also 
important  to  bear  in  mind  that  the  cessation  of  its  growth 
was  equally  gradual  and  natural.  For  the  development 
of  the  jus  honorarium  was  not  suddenly  stopped  by  the 
interposition  of  any  external  agency.  When  the  jus 
honorarium  attained  its  maturity  it  ceased  to  grow.  This 
can  be  seen  from  an  examination  of  the  praetors'  edicts. 
It  early  became  customary  on  their  yearly  assumption  of 
office  for  these  officers  to  issue  an  edict,  setting  forth  the 
circumstances  under  which  the  incumbent  would  grant 
relief  and  the  character  of  relief  to  be  granted.  "The 
next  year's  praetor  was  free  to  adopt  the  edicts  of  his  pred- 
ecessor or  not ;  but  it  was  usual  for  him  to  do  so  if  they 
had  been  beneficial  in  practice,  he  adding  to  them  new 
provisions.  .  .  .  As  each  new  praetor  entered  upon  office 
he  announced  his  jurisdictional  programme,  ...  by  far 
the  greater  part  of  it  tralatieium^  i.e.  transmitted  from  his 
predecessors,  and  only  a  few  paragraphs,  diminishing  in 
number  as  time  progressed^  representing  his  own  contribu- 
tion." 2  During  the  latter  decades  of  the  Republic  few 
1  Italics  not  in  the  original.  ^  Muirhead,  op.  cit.  %  71. 


JUSTICE  821 

additions  were  made  by  the  praetors,  for  the  simple  reason 
that  they  could  find  few  important  rights  or  remedies  not 
already  recognized.  And  on  the  eve  of  the  Empire  Cicero, 
in  his  defence  of  the  poet  Roscius,  goes  so  far  as  to  say, 
that  provision  had  been  made  for  access  to  the  courts 
under  every  possible  contingency.  During  the  Empire 
the  main  outlines  of  Roman  law  were  not  disturbed;  it 
was  merely  changed  in  detail,  and  finally  systematized  and 
left  as  a  model  for  later  ages  under  the  orders  of  Justinian. 

Space  will  not  permit  even  a  review  of  the  development 
of  English  law.  But  this  is  not  necessary.  It  is  sufiicient 
to  say  that,  beginning  with  the  reign  of  Henry  II,  and 
under  authority  of  ordinances  and  laws  of  Henry  III,  and 
especially  of  Edward  I,  "the  English  Justinian,"  the 
chancellors  enjoyed  a  discretion  similar  to  that  of  the 
Roman  praetors ;  that  they  were  well  armed  with  experi- 
ence and  knowledge  to  guide  their  exercise  of  discretion ; 
and  that  they  amply  exercised  it,  partly  by  extending  the 
jurisdiction  of  the  kings'  courts  of  law,  and  partly  by 
evolving,  as  supplementary  thereto,  the  equity  jurisdiction 
of  the  Chancery  itself.  In  detail  the  development  of 
Roman  and  English  law  was  very  different,  but  in  both 
cases  there  was  ample  opportunity  for  every  genuine 
species  of  grievance  to  get  a  hearing  before,  and  a  determi- 
nation by,  well-trained  tribunals. 

This  concludes  what  can  be  written  here  to  suggest 
how  comprehensively  and  in  what  concrete  detail  the 
Roman  and  English  courts  have  dealt  with  the  problem 
of  justice.  Had  a  fuller  treatment  been  possible,  the 
conclusion  would  have  been  the  more  complete  and  strik- 
ing. It  now  remains  to  point  out  in  a  few  words  some 
of  the  limitations  debarring  the  courts  from  considering 
certain  grievances.  For,  though  the  courts  consider  and 
define  all  the  rights  and  liabilities  they  appropriately  can, 
it  does  not  follow  and  is  not  true  that  they  pass  upon  all 
rights  and  liabilities. 


322  ETHICS 

The  most  important  limitations  arise  from  tha  nature 
of  the  means  at  the  disposal  of  the  courts  for  enforcing 
justice.  There  are  many  varieties  of  injustice,  but  against 
them  the  courts  have  only  a  few  weapons,  all  crudely 
physical.  They  can  execute,  they  can  imprison  and  ofifer 
physical  punishment  and  hard  labor  as  the  only  alterna- 
tives, they  can  impose  fines  and  dispossess  of  property, 
but  other  resources  they  have  none.  Being  the  repre- 
sentative of  the  political  sovereign,  the  courts  can  employ 
physical  power,  the  whole  available  power  of  the  state  if 
necessary.  But  they  are  not  in  a  position  to  bring  to 
bear  upon  litigants  any  other  influence  or  constraint.  But 
in  many  cases  it  is  inexpedient,  even  dangerous,  and 
ineffectual  as  well,  to  attempt  to  prevent  or  redress  in- 
justice by  physical  means.  And  recognizing  this  the 
courts  have  refused  to  consider  many  grievances,  regard- 
ing which  there  are  accordingly  no  laws  to  be  found. 
This  is  especially  true  in  the  case  of  breaches  of  what  are 
known  as  duties  of  imperfect  obligation,  such  as  the  duties 
owed  to  family,  country,  and  friends.^  For  instance, 
every  member  of  a  family,  as  long  as  he  belongs  to  it, 
continuously  owes  duties  of  forbearance  and  aid  to  the 
other  members.  But  short  of  intolerable  invasions  of 
privacy,  the  courts  cannot  enforce  these  duties,  or  at  least 
can  enforce  only  a  few,  like  the  plain  duties  of  support 
owed  by  parents  to  children  and  by  husbands  to  wives. 
And  so  it  is  with  patriotic  duties.  The  state  can  collect 
taxes,  but  it  cannot  force  any  one  to  be  an  intelligently 
loyal  and  self-sacrificing  citizen,  devoting  time  and  energy 
to  the  general  good.  There  are  instances  of  religious 
tribunals,  supported  by  the  secular  arm,  and  attempting 
to   define   and    enforce  many  duties   the  secular  courts 

1  The  term  is  unfortunate  ;  the  obligations  are  in  no  sense  imperfect 
The  trouble  is,  that  aside  from  being  owed  to  certain  persons  or  quasi- 
persons,  the  duties  can  be  but  imperfectly  defined  owing  to  their  utter 
concreteoeas. 


JUSTICE  323 

now  refuse  to  consider.  But  casuistry  and  tjranny  have 
always  resulted.  In  short,  the  prevention  and  redress  of 
many  injustices  always  have  depended,  and,  as  far  as  can 
be  foreseen,  always  will  depend,  on  the  pressure  of  public 
opinion  and  other  forces  of  suasion.  Physical  punish- 
ment and  threats  of  the  same  are  devices  too  clumsy  to 
serve  the  purpose. 

But  while  recognizing  that  the  courts  cannot,  because 
of  the  rude  weapons  they  wield,  undertake  to  redress  the 
more  hidden  and  intimate  wrongs,  it  is  important  that 
the  admission  should  not  go  beyond  the  facts.  In  the 
few  instances  cited  it  will  be  observed  that  the  duties 
passed  over  by  law  belong  to  classes  containing  duties  the 
law  carefully  defines  and  seeks  to  enforce.  This  is  true 
of  family  duties  and  patriotic  duties,  and  if  not  true  of 
the  duties  of  friendship,  it  is  true  of  the  larger  class  to 
which  they  belong,  including  the  duties  incident  to  part- 
nership, agency,  and  similar  relationships  that  are  volun- 
tarily entered  into  and  involve  mutual  trust,  assistance, 
and  a  host  of  other  obligations  quite  as  incapable  of  full 
specification  as  are  those  of  friendship.  On  all  such 
duties  the  law  throws  much  light,  though  it  cannot  of 
course  define  them  in  detail. 

But  there  is  one  important  class  of  duties  that  the  courts 
have  wholly  failed  to  enforce  on  individuals,^  namely  the 
duties  of  charity,  inspired,  as  was  seen  in  the  last  chapter, 
chiefly  by  the  feeling  of  pity.  The  unfortunate,  those  in 
special  need,  have  no  legal  right  to  assistance  from  any 
specific  individuals,  and  no  individual  is  under  legal  duty 
to  relieve  this  or  that  person  in  distress,  though  individ- 
uals may  be  legally  bound  to  pay  taxes,  levied  wholly  or 
partly  for  the  purpose  of  aiding  the  unfortunate.  But 
while  legal  rights  and  duties  of  the  kind  indicated 
do  not  exist,  moral  rights  and  duties  do  exist,  and  are 

>  In  enforcing  the  "  poor  laws  *'  the  courts  have  compelled  commtuiities 
to  do  charity. 


324  ETHICS 

fully  recognized,  and  indeed  in  certain  stages  of  civiliza- 
tion are  looked  upon  as  the  central  core  of  morality. 
There  seem  to  be  two  main  considerations  that  restrain  the 
courts  from  protecting  these  rights  and  enforcing  the 
duties  corresponding  to  them.  First,  it  is  impracticable 
for  the  courts  to  decide  who  owes  assistance  to  any  par- 
ticular person  in  distress,  for  there  is  no  plain  and  gen- 
erally recognized  relationship  between  the  needy,  as  such, 
and  other  individuals,  as  there  is  between  members  of  a 
family  with  mutual  rights  and  duties,  and  very  intimate 
and  complicated  considerations  must  be  borne  in  mind 
before  a  decision  can  be  reached  with  regard  to  duties  of 
charity.  The  courts  are  willing  to  exercise  discretion,  but 
they  will  not  undertake  to  adjudicate  cases  that  call  upon 
them  for  so  unwisely  large  an  amount  of  discretion. 
Secondly,  enforced  charity  is  neither  creditable  to  the 
giver  nor  welcome  or  helpful  to  the  receiver.  "  The  gift 
without  the  giver  is  bare."  But  whatever  the  reasons, 
the  fact  remains  that  the  courts  do  not  deal  with  duties 
of  charity  in  so  far  as  they  are  incumbent  upon  individ- 
uals. This  failure  is  partly  responsible  for  the  usual 
distinction  between  justice  and  mercy.  We  will  be  better 
able  to  determine  whether  or  not  there  is  any  other  im- 
portant class  of  rights  and  duties  neglected  by  the  courts 
after  the  principles  of  justice  as  recognized  by  the  courts 
have  been  passed  in  review. 

Summary  and  Conclusion.  —  This  long  discussion  has 
considered  as  fully  as  space  permitted  several  questions 
that  had  to  be  decided  before  the  law  as  administered  by 
the  courts  could  be  accepted  as  an  adequate  and  trust- 
worthy embodiment  of  a  nation's  idea  of  justice.  After 
some  preliminaries,  the  competence  of  judges  was  discussed, 
and  compared  with  the  competence  of  ethical  investigators 
when  unaided  by  any  systematic  study  of  the  law,  with 
the  result  that  judges  were  found  to  be  more  favourably 
situated  for  reaching  broadly  based  and  unbiassed  conclu- 


JUSTICE  825 

sions.  It  was  seen  that  the  restriction  of  courts  of  justice 
to  the  consideration  of  overt  acts  coincides  with  the  restric- 
tion of  the  conception  of  justice  as  here  defined.  On  inves- 
tigation it  appeared  that  many  acts  often  considered  merely 
legal  are  morally  just  as  well,  and  while  some  acts  required 
by  the  courts  were  found  to  be  morally  indifferent  or  even 
immoral,  this  appeared  to  be  true  only  of  isolated  require- 
ments, not  of  any  important  class  of  legal  principles. 
Finally,  the  consideration  of  the  conditions  under  which 
the  law  grew  up,  and  of  the  very  full  opportunity  enjoyed 
by  the  courts  for  bringing  within  their  jurisdiction  any 
and  all  conflict  of  interest  they  might  consider  themselves 
competent  to  deal  with,  as  well  as  of  the  motives  and  other 
forces  impelling  them  to  extend  their  jurisdiction,  led  to 
the  conclusion  that  the  courts  cannot  well  have  failed  to 
consider  and  define  any  important  rights  they  were  in  a 
position  to  protect.  And,  although  it  appeared  that  the 
courts  are  not  competent  to  enforce  all  rights,  it  seemed 
highly  probable  that  they  do  enforce  some  rights  under 
nearly  all  the  main  subdivisions,  possibly  under  all  except 
one  of  the  main  subdivisions. 

We  are  now  prepared  to  decide  definitely  what  use  can 
be  made  of  the  law  in  attaining  an  adequate  and  trust- 
worthy conception  of  justice.  And,  without  further  pre- 
liminaries, it  may  be  said  at  once,  that  if  two  precautions 
are  observed,  the  law  offers  the  best  basis  on  which  to  build 
up  the  conception  we  are  seeking  to  construct.  In  the 
first  place,  the  law  must  be  so  used  as  not  to  include  in  the 
conception  attained  the  merely  legal  actions  it  prescribes, 
and  not  to  exclude  from  it  the  moral  actions  the  couits 
cannot  consider  and  enforce.  With  these  ends  in  view 
only  the  main  principles  of  the  law,  only  the  liigher  classes 
of  rights  and  duties  will  be  made  use  of.  There  would  no 
doubt  be  difficulty  in  deciding  just  how  far  the  law  can  be 
followed  down  the  hierarchy  of  its  classification,  but  fortu- 
nately such  a  decision  is  not  necessary  here.     Space  limi* 


326  ETHICS 

tations  forbid  the  discussion  of  any  but  the  most  general 
principles  of  the  law,  and  in  fact  it  will  not  be  possible  to 
approach  at  all  near  to  the  danger  limit. 

In  the  second  place,  what  is  being  sought  is,  not  the  idea  of 
justice  of  any  one  nation,  but  the  idea  of  justice  as  it  has 
been  worked  out  conjointly  by  the  most  highly  civilized 
nations.  Not  a  provincial  or  national,  but  a  cosmopol- 
itan conception  of  justice  is  to  be  constructed,  a  concep- 
tion that,  so  far  as  it  goes,  may  serve  as  an  authoritative 
moral  guide  to  all  nations  and  peoples.  The  precaution 
that  this  comprehensive  aim  necessitates  is  not  far  to  seek. 
Legal  provincialisms  are  to  be  avoided,  and  to  that  end 
only  such  rights  and  duties  as  are  recognized  by  all  civil- 
ized systems  of  law  are  to  be  considered  morally  just. 
This  necessitates  a  comparison  of  the  different  systems  of 
law,  and  the  exclusive  acceptance  of  the*  principles  recog- 
nized by  all  of  them.  In  fact  the  Anglo-American  common 
law  will  be  used  as  a  basis,  and  so  much  of  it  accepted  as 
agrees  with  the  civil  law  as  exemplified  in  the  French  and 
German  systems.  The  task  is  not  as  diflBcult  as  might  be 
supposed,  for  there  is  little  divergence  in  the  main  princi- 
ples of  civilized  legal  systems.  This  second  precaution 
and  the  first  are  mutually  accordant,  and  will  assist  each 
other. 

It  only  remains  to  provide  for  charitable  and  other 
duties,  if  any  others  there  be,  that  the  courts  wholly 
neglect.  This  point  will  be  considered  towards  the  end  of 
the  chapter,  after  the  law  has  thrown  all  the  light  it  can  on 
the  nature  of  justice. 

§  3.     Preliminary  Idea  of  Just  Conduct 

Before  proceeding,  on  the  basis  of  legal  justice,  it  may 
be  well  to  state  explicitly  that  the  precision  and  exhaustive- 
ness  of  statement  characteristic  of  and  necessary  in  legal 
writings  must  not  be  expected  in  the  following  pages. 
The  purpose  of  judges  on  the  bench  and,  to  a  slightly  lesser 


JUSTICE  827 

extent,  of  legal  writers  is  to  compel  understanding  and  to 
render  misinterpretation  impossible,  which  purpose  accounts 
for  the  cumbrousness  of  their  style.  They  know  that 
what  they  write  will  be  carefully  weighed,  every  word  and 
omission  being  narrowly  scrutinized  by  interested  parties 
with  a  view  to  twisting  it  to  their  advantage  wherever  that 
is  possible.  Besides,  they  are  dealing  with  relatively  con- 
crete cases,  judges  with  absolutely  concrete  cases,  and  they 
must  make  plain  just  what  the  issue  in  all  its  richness  is, 
and  precisely  what  the  rules  are  that  apply  in  each  case. 
But  ethical  writings  are  not  so  narrowly  and  critically 
examined.  The  friendly  cooperation  of  the  reader  can  be 
counted  upon,  for  his  purpose  is  not  to  misinterpret, 
rather  is  it  his  effort  to  interpret  as  accurately  as  possible 
the  meaning  that  the  writer  is  striving  to  express.  With- 
out such  cooperation,  agreement  as  to  scientific  generaliz- 
ations would  never  be  reached  in  the  less  exact  sciences. 
For  Ethics  has  to  deal  largely  with  generalizations,  instead 
of  with  universalizations.  The  field  is  so  large  that  only 
statements  of  a  high  degree  of  generality  can  be  considered, ' 
and  in  dealing  with  so  concrete  a  subject-matter  such 
statements  are  not  universally  true,  but  merely  true  "  for 
the  most  part."  Now  statements  that  are  merely  true  for 
the  most  part  can  easily  be  twisted  for  person.il  advantage, 
and  for  that  reason  legal  writers  never  make  them,  pre- 
ferring to  put  in  all  the  qualifications  that  render  them 
absolutely  true.  But  ethical  writers  do  not  fear  deliberate 
misinterpretation,  and  therefore  make  general  statements 
in  order  to  throw  as  much  light  as  possible  on  a  difficult 
and  intricate  subject. 

In  the  introductory  chapter  of  the  Institutes  of  Justinian 
appear  the  following  words,  quoted  rt  is  believed  from  a 
lost  work  of  Ulpian,  one  of  the  greatest  of  Roman  jurists : 
"  Juris prcecepta  sunt  hcec:  honest e  vivere^  alterum  non  loedere^ 
suum  cuique  tribuere."  As  to  the  meaning  of  honeste  vivere^ 
the  first  of  these  precepts  of  the  law,  there  has  been  not  a 


328  ETHICS 

little  discussion,  for  it  is  not  easy  to  recognize  the  branch 
of  the  law  that  these  words  sum  up.  But,  as  Sir  F.  Pollock 
says,  the  phrase,  though  vague  enough,  "may  mean  re- 
fraining from  criminal  offences,  or  possibly  general  good 
behaviour  in  social  and  family  relations."  Whether  or  not 
Ulpian,  if  he  wrote  the  words,  meant  in  that  phrase  to 
refer  to  the  criminal  law,  may  never  be  known.  But  no 
mistake  will  be  made  in  taking  the  criminal  law  as  a  basis 
for  one  of  the  main  subdivisions  of  justice.  "  And  what," 
asks  Professor  Pollock,  "of  alterum  non  Icedere?  Thou 
shalt  do  no  harm  to  thy  neighbour.  Our  law  of  torts,  with 
all  its  irregularities,  has  for  its  main  purpose  nothing  else 
but  the  development  of  this  precept."  ^  So,  then,  the  law  of 
torts,  or  private  wrongs,  will  furnish  the  basis  for  another 
main  subdivision  of  our  subject.  And  the  meaning  of  the 
last  phrase  is  sufficiently  plain;  suum  cuique  tribuere,  to 
give  unto  each  his  due,  must  refer  to  the  law  of  contract 
and  property,  which  will  accordingly  be  the  basis  of 
another  subdivision  of  the  subject.  Use  will  also  be  made 
of  other  branches  of  the  law,  e.ff.  of  portions  of  the  politi- 
cal law  and  of  the  law  of  procedure.  The  principles  of 
distributive  justice  are  to  be  found  chiefly  in  the  private 
law,  the  law  of  torts,  contract,  property,  etc.,  the  principles 
of  what  is  somewhat  unfortunately  called  retributive  justice 
in  the  criminal  law. 

Grouping  private  and  public  wrongs  together,  and  de- 
taching certain  questions  for  separate  consideration,  it  may 
be  said  that  justice  lays  obligations  of  three  kinds  upon 
men  individually  :  first,  abstention  from  wrongful  injury, 
both  to  private  individuals  —  here  the  law  of  torts  is  the 
basis  —  and  to  public  interests  —  here  the  criminal  law  is 
the  basis ;  secondly,  the  conferring  of  benefits  upon  those 
entitled  to  them  at  the  hands  of  each  —  the  legal  basis 
being  the  law  of  contract,  the  law  of  obligations  arising 
from  special  relations,  including  the  law  of  property,  and 

1  The  last  two  quotations  are  taken  from  Pollock^s  Law  of  Torts,  p.  12. 


JUSTICE  329 

portions  of  the  political  law;  thirdly,  the  remedying  of 
injustices  of  either  kind  —  the  basis  being  subdivisions 
of  the  branches  of  law  mentioned  and  also  the  law  of 
procedure. 

The  first  group  of  obligations  defines  the  limits  beyond 
which  liberty  of  action  in  any  one  wrongfully  injures 
others ;  it  distinguishes  liberty  from  license.  The  second, 
in  view  of  the  fact  that  individuals  are  constantly  receiv- 
ing benefits  from  other  individuab  and  from  society,  deter- 
mines how  and  to  whom  return  should  be  made ;  men  owe 
debts,  and  honesty  and  gratitude  require  their  payment. 
The  third  subdivision  determines  how  those  who  take 
undue  license  and  those  who  do  not  pay  their  debts  shall 
be  dealt  with. 

§  4.    Unjust  Injuries  to  Individuals 

It  might  at  first  sight  be  supposed  that  any  injury  to 
another  man  is  unjust.  But  it  takes  but  a  moment's 
thought  to  make  it  plain,  that  if  every  act  injurious  to 
any  one  were  forbidden,  the  restraint  on  liberty  would 
be  paralyzing  and  intolerable,  quite  as  intolerable  as  the 
mutual  injuries  that  would  result  if  every  man  were  allowed 
to  do  just  what  he  pleased.  And  in  fact  the  law  has  not 
and  morality  does  not  forbid  such  injuries  to  others  as  are 
unavoidably  incident  to  social  life,  or  such  as  are  pro- 
motive of  general  welfare,  but  wrongful  injuries  are  for- 
bidden. Of  course  to  distinguish  between  allowable  and 
wrongful  injuries  is  a  very  difficult  and  delicate  task,  but 
that  precisely  is  the  task  of  the  law  and  of  morality  in 
this  their  negative  or  prohibitive  aspect.  To  state  the 
same  facts  from  the  positive  point  of  view,  men  have 
interests,  generally  but  ineptly  called  rights,  interference 
with  which  constitutes  injury,  and  the  problem  is  to  dis- 
cover what  interference  with  these  interests  is  allowable 
and  just,  and  what  interference  is  wrong  and  unjust. 

The  point  will  be  made  clearer  by  recalling  the  fact  that 


830  ETHICS 

these  interests  are  those  more  or  less  accurately  enumerated 
in  the  misleading  documents  called  bills  or  petitions  of 
rights,  documents  that  are  misleading  because  they  insist 
on  the  "  rights  "  without  insisting  on,  or  even  so  much  as 
mentioning,  the  limitations  to  which  the  so-called  rights 
are  subject.  The  document  most  familiar  in  this  country 
declares  that  man  has  inalienable  rights  to  life,  liberty,  and 
the  pursuit  of  happiness,  a  statement  that,  while  true,  is, 
as  will  presently  appear,  but  a  half  truth,  and  in  so  far 
misleading.  For  while  interference  with  life,  liberty,  the 
pursuit  of  happiness,  or  any  other  right  of  the  same  stand- 
ing is  an  injury,  and  often  a  wrong,  yet  such  interference 
is  sometimes  allowable,  and  may  be  a  positive  duty.  Bills 
of  rights  have  served  a  useful  purpose  in  the  past,  by  over- 
emphasis following  upon  and  necessitated  and  justified 
by  antecedent  neglect.  But  it  is  time  to  understand  that 
there  are  limitations  to  these  "  rights,"  and  what  the  limi- 
tations are.^ 

^^  Rights  ^^  in  General  and  *■'■  General  Exceptions.^^  — 
Subject  to  general  exceptions  and  other  limitations  to  be 
discussed  presently,  it  may  be  said  that  all  civilized  sys- 
tems of  law  declare  it  to  be  an  abuse  of  liberty  and  a  wrong 
for  any  individual  to  attack  any  other  individual  in  what 
may  be  roughly  described  as  his  bodily  safety,  his  sense  of 
security,  his  personal  liberty,  his  enjoyment  of  his  prop- 
erty, his  relations  to  other  beings,  and  his  useful  knowl- 
edge. One  of  the  components  of  the  ultimate  end  is 
individual  welfare,  and  the  courts  have  come  to  see  that 
in  pursuit  of  that  end  every  individual  must  be  protected, 
so  far  as  possible,  in  the  six  directions  mentioned.  Each 
of  these  "  rights  "  may  be  wholly  or  partially  alienated,  and 

1  The  liberty  to  be  here  distinguished  from  license  is  not  political  or 
constitutional  liberty,  i.e.  the  opportunity  to  vote  or  otherwise  to  take 
effective  part  in  political  activity,  but  civil  liberty,  i.e.  the  opportunity  to  go 
about  one's  business  and  in  general  to  manage  one's  life  without  undue 
interference  from  other  individuals  or  from  the  state. 


JUSTICE  331 

"will  have  to  be  carefully  defined  and  limited  later  on,  but 
a  general  idea  of  what  wrongs  consist  in  will  be  obtained 
by  regarding  them  as  infractions  of  the  rights  mentioned. 

But  there  are  a  number  of  "  general  exceptions,"  as  they 
are  termed  in  the  Indian  Draft  Code,  sets  of  conditions 
under  which  injury  in  or  interference  with  any  of  the 
rights  mentioned  is  no  wrong.  These  general  exceptions 
are  discussed  under  that  title  in  Professor  Pollock's  Law 
of  Torts,  which  is  in  the  main  followed  here,  though  devi- 
ations and  omissions  are  made  necessary  by  difference  in 
purpose  and  point  of  view.  The  exceptions  conveniently 
fall  under  six  heads. 

(1)  In  defending  his  interests  or  those  of  some  other 
persons  —  though  in  the  latter  case  it  is  very  difficult  to 
tell  where  the  line  should  be  drawn — a  man  may  use 
necessary  and  reasonable  force,  and  in  so  doing  commits 
no  wrong.  "  In  defence  of  a  man's  liberty,  person,  or  prop- 
erty, he  may  lawfully  use  any  amount  of  force  which  is 
both  'necessary' — i.e.  not  more  than  enough  to  attain  its 
object  —  and  *  reasonable '  or  '  proportionate '  —  i.e.  which 
does  not  inflict  upon  the  wrong-doer  mischief  out  of  pro- 
portion to  the  injury  or  mischief  which  the  force  used  is 
intended  to  prevent;  and  no  man  may  use  in  defending 
his  rights  an  amount  of  force  which  is  either  unnecessary 
or  unreasonable."  Of  course,  only  defence  is  allowed; 
attack  is  not  contemplated  under  this  head.  But  it  is 
more  difficult  to  decide  what  degree  and  kind  of  injurious 
action  is  allowable  in  defence  from  attacks  that  fall  short 
of  offering  physical  violence,  e.g.  insulting  remarks,  but 
doubtless  so  much  defence  as  is  necessary  and  proportion- 
ate, as  defined  above,  is  allowable.  Again,  the  concensus 
of  legal  systems  is  not  clear  in  the  matter  of  justifiable 
defence  of  others.  Defence  of  members  of  one's  family, 
especially  women  and  children,  and  defence  of  the  property 
of  another,  under  certain  conditions,  as  when  a  servant 
defends  property  of  his  master  committed  to  his  charge 


332  ETHICS 

against  forceful  attack,  may  be  as  energetic  as  self-defence, 
if  anything  more  energetic.  But  beyond  this  point  it  does 
not  seem  possible  to  discover  any  sharp  rule.  What 
Professor  Dicey  says,  in  the  following  quotation,  of  the 
intrinsic  difficulty  of  defining  legitimate  self-defence  ap- 
plies, mutatis  mutandis^  to  the  difficulty  of  defining  legiti- 
mate defence  of  others :  "  The  rule  which  fixes  the  limit 
to  the  right  of  self-help  must,  from  the  nature  of  things, 
be  a  compromise  between  the  necessity,  on  the  one  hand, 
of  allowing  every  citizen  to  maintain  his  rights  against 
wrong-doers,  and  the  necessity,  on  the  other  hand,  of  sup- 
pressing private  warfare.  Discourage  self-help,  and  loyal 
subjects  become  the  slaves  of  ruffians.  Overstimulate 
self-assertion,  and  for  the  arbitrament  of  the  courts  you 
substitute  the  decision  of  the  sword  or  the  revolver."  ^ 

(2)  Injuries  inflicted  by  public  officers  in  the  exercise  of 
their  official  functions  and  of  their  discretionary  powers  are 
not  legal  wrongs.  For  instance,  the  soldier  who  under 
orders  kills  the  enemies  of  his  country,  the  judge  or  legis- 
lator who  in  his  official  utterances  blasts  a  reputation,  the 
quarantine  officer  who  detains  an  infected  ship,  and  the 
policeman  who  wounds  an  escaping  burglar,  commit  no 
wrongs,  provided  they  are  acting  within  their  discretion- 
ary powers.  As  the  last  clause  indicates,  certain  ques- 
tions are  left  to  the  discretion  of  public  officials,  and 
whatever  they  decide,  and  whatever  injuries  result  from 
their  discretionary  actions,  no  responsibility  is  imposed 
upon  them ;  the  law  makes  them  the  final  judges.  But 
public  officials  are  of  course  bound  to  act  within  the  law, 
and  they  are  liable  for  any  injuries  that  result  from  their 
illegal  acts. 

Again,  private  citizens  may  be  called  upon  to  act  in 
official  capacities,  e.g.  in  taking  part  in  the  arrest  of 
an  escaping  burglar,  murderer,  or  felon,  or  in  quasi-official 

*  Law  of  the  Constitution,  Appendix,  Note  IV.  The  quotation  before 
this  is  from  the  same  source. 


JUSTICE  333 

capacities,  e.g.  as  parents,  teachers,  or  custodians  of  the 
insane,  and  then  when  acting  within  their  discretionary 
powers  they  can  do  no  legal  wrong. 

It  would  be  interesting  and  instructive  to  discuss  the 
conditions  under  which  discretionary  powers  are  g^ven, 
but  there  is  no  space  for  such  a  discussion  here.  It  should 
be  pointed  out,  however,  that  injuries  due  to  official  and 
quasi-official  action  within  legal  discretion  may  be  wrong 
from  the  moral  point  of  view.  When  it  is  thought  more 
expedient  for  the  officials  concerned  than  for  judges  to 
pass  upon  injurious  actions,  the  former  are  given  sole 
discretion  by  the  law.  But  of  course  that  discretion  may 
be  abused,  and  then  moral  wrong  is  committed.  Injuries 
by  officials  and  quasi-officials  are  not  legal  wrongs  when 
they  fall  within  the  discretion  allowed  by  the  law.  But 
when  it  comes  to  defining  the  moral  use  of  discretion, 
many  difficulties  arise.  Of  course,  as  was  seen  in  Chap- 
ter III,  such  discretion  should  be  used  conscientiously  and 
wisely,  or  according  to  the  best  insight,  and  the  discussion 
of  objective  morality  throws  light  on  the  nature  of  the 
wise  use  of  discretion  in  each  case,  but  full  specification 
of  its  nature  is  impossible.  The  courts  cannot  do  so,  and 
ethical  knowledge  cannot  do  much  to  help  the  courts. 
Here  rules  fail  us,  and  insight  alone  remains.  The 
example  of  the  wise  official  must  be  relied  on. 

(3)  "  Leave  "  and  "  license  "  on  the  part  of  an  injured 
party  transforms  an  injury  that  would  otherwise  have 
been  a  wrong  into  an  innocent  injury.  Any  one  who 
engages  in  a  game  of  football  or  in  a  polo  match  is 
debarred  from  holding  that  he  has  been  wronged  by  any 
fellow-participant  who  injures  him  in  the  regular  course 
of  the  game.  The  workman  who  agrees  to  take  part  in 
the  manufacture  of  dynamite  or  some  other  high  explosive 
can  claim  no  damages  from  his  employer  if  injury  comes 
to  him  through  no  negligence  of  the  latter.  In  general, 
when   a   man   consents   to  or  accepts   the  risks  of  any 


334  ETHICS 

dangerous  activity  or  situation,  no  wrong  is  done  him  if 
the  risk  eventuates  in  injury  to  him.  In  such  cases  the 
individual  brings  the  injury  on  himself,  or  does  not  avoid 
the  danger,  knowing  it  to  be  such,  and  he  must  abide  the 
consequences,  without  seeking  to  shift  the  responsibility 
on  to  other  shoulders.  The  rule  is  difficult  of  application, 
no  doubt,  but  the  principle  is  plain  and  evidently  just. 

(4)  Inevitable  accident  is  recognized  as  one  of  the  gen- 
eral exceptions,  but  it  has,  in  fact,  been  discussed  in  Chap- 
ter II,  where  the  extent  of  each  man's  responsibility  was 
being  considered,  and  needs  no  further  consideration  here. 
Where  no  man  is  responsible,  in  any  of  the  senses  of  the 
term  formerly  explained,  for  an  injury  sustained,  the  injury 
is  said  to  be  due  to  inevitable  accident,  and  no  wrong  has 
then  been  done.  The  earlier  account  of  responsibility  was 
based  on  rules  of  law,  though  it  went  further  than  the  law 
in  considering  the  conditions  under  which  blame  should  be 
imputed,  and  the  conditions  under  which  it  should  not  be 
imputed ;  the  latter  question,  being  one  of  motives,  is  not 
considered  by  the  courts. 

(5)  Injury  incident  to  the  prudent  and  judicious  exer- 
cise of  a  common  right  is  no  wrong.  A,  by  offering  better 
goods  at  the  same  prices  or  the  same  goods  at  lower  prices, 
or  by  otherwise  giving  greater  satisfaction  to  customers, 
may  drive  B  out  of  business,  and  be  the  cause  of  B's  ruin 
and  of  his  family's  misery.  But  A  has  merely  exercised  a 
common  right,  and  in  so  doing  has  committed  no  wrong. 
And  similarly,  no  wrong  is  committed  by  a  i-ailroad  com- 
pany, that  secures  a  right  of  way  running  near  the  resi- 
dence of  X,  who  is  a  nervous  invalid,  and  by  the  noise  of 
its  traffic  so  aggravates  X's  malady  as  to  hasten  his  death. 
To  be  sure,  it  is  extremely  difficult  to  define  with  precision 
the  meaning  of  "  prudent  and  judicious  exercise  of  common 
rights,"  and  especially  difficult  to  define  the  difference 
between  legitimate  and  illegitimate  business  competition. 
For  instance,  is  it  a  legitimate  exercise  of  a  common  right 


JUSTICE  885 

for  A  temporarily  to  sell  at  a  loss  in  order  to  drive  B  out 
of  business,  or  in  order  to  force  B  to  make  terras  satisfac- 
tory to  A  ?  This,  which  involves  the  trust  question,  and 
similar  problems,  are  almost  daily  engaging  the  attention 
of  courts  and  legislatures  at  the  present  time.  On  these 
questions  there  are  many  opinions,  many  violent  opinions, 
but  as  yet  there  is  no  scientific  answer.  Such  an  answer 
men  have  not  yet  worked  out. 

(6)  Finally,  injuries  due  to  works  of  necessity  such  aa 
the  pulling  down  of  burning  houses  to  save  other  houses 
and  their  contents,  or  the  sacrifice  of  ships'  cargoes  or 
parts  thereof  to  save  the  ships  and  the  lives  on  them,  are 
not  wrongs.  Exceptions  resting  on  this  ground  offer  for 
the  most  part  little  difficulty. 

Wrongs.  —  No  exhaustive  classification  of  wrongs  to  indi- 
viduals can  be  expected  here,  nor  will  it  be  possible  to  dis- 
cuss any  of  the  classes  into  which  wrongs  are  divided  at 
all  fully.  All  that  will  be  attempted  will  be  to  give  some 
idea  of  the  different  wrongs  recognized  in  all  civilized 
legal  systems,  and,  when  necessary,  some  idea  of  the  rea- 
sons for  considering  the  actions  in  question  wrongs.  Un- 
der the  exceptional  conditions  just  described,  the  wrongs 
now  to  be  considered,  of  course,  cease  to  be  such.* 

(1)  Physical  violence  to  any  individual  is,  of  course,  a 
wrong,  and  is  recognized  as  such  in  all  systems.  And  this 
is  true  not  only  of  violence  with  more  serious  consequences, 
e.g.  death  or  grave  bodily  injury,  but  of  any  interference 
with  the  peraon.  Every  man's  body  is  his  very  own,  and 
it  is  his  right  that  no  one  should,  without  good  cause,  in 
any  way  interfere  with  it.  At  least,  this  is  true  of  inter- 
ference with  another's  person  with  intent  to  injure  or  co- 
erce. Subject  to  the  limitations  previously  discussed,  no 
man  has  the  right  to  undertake  physical  harm  or  coercion 

»  In  the  main  I  follow  Pollock,  op.  eit.,  Sourdat,  Traiti  giniral  de  la  Re- 
sporuabilite,  and  the  BurgerUche»  Getetzb uch.  I  am  indebUnl  for  many  tfug- 
gestions  to  Professor  Sidgwick's  Ele.  of  Politic*,  especially  Chs.  IV  and  V. 


336  ETHICS 

of  his  fellow-man,  and  such  an  undertaking  is  in  itself  a 
wrong.  Even  the  undertaking  to  annoy  or  inflict  discom- 
fort is  a  wrong,  what,  in  English  law,  is  known  as  a  nui- 
sance, nuisances  including  injuries  to  health,  and  such 
annoyances  as  stenches,  obstructions  to  view  or  light,  and 
similar  interferences  with  the  free  use  of  the  senses.  But, 
on  the  other  hand,  in  case  the  violence  is  unintentional,  it 
must  be  appreciably  injurious  —  nuisances  are  sometimes 
sufficiently  harmful  to  meet  that  condition  —  in  order  that 
it  should  be  a  wrong.  Intentional  physical  injury  is 
always  a  wrong,  unintentional  injury  is  a  wrong  only  if 
appreciable  harm  is  done. 

(2)  Mental  injuries  are  wrongs  according  to  the  civil 
law,^  though  I  have  been  unable  to  discover  how  this  rule 
is  applied  by  the  courts.  The  common  law  ^  recognizes  no 
such  general  principle,  but  does  recognize  some  wrongs 
whose  essence  is  mental  injury.  Indecency  and  blasphemy, 
though  counted  among  private  wrongs,  are  probably  pro- 
hibited rather,  as  Professor  Sidgwick  suggests,  because  of 
their  attacks  on  the  family  and  on  religion,  than  because 
of  their  offence  to  individuals.  But  the  common  law  also 
recognizes  as  a  wrong  any  attack  on  a  man's  legitimate 
sense  of  security,  i.e.  putting  a  man  in  reasonable  fear  of 
physical  violence  or  bodily  harm.  Even  the  pointing  of 
a  loaded  firearm  at  a  man  from  a  point  within  its  range, 
or  of  anything  that  looks  like  a  firearm  (Pollock),  may  be 
an  assault,  and  therefore  a  wrong.  For,  "  Every  person 
has  a  right  to  live  in  society  without  being  put  in  fear 
of  personal  harm,  and  he  has  an  action  for  the  invasion  of 
this  right  even  though  not  otherwise  injured."  ^  One  of 
the  most  marked  differences  between  civilized  and  unciv- 
ilized societies  is  the  absence  of  such  fear  in  the  former. 

1  Sourdat,  op.  cit.,  §  33 

'  Including  equity ;  the  distinction  between  law  and  equity  is  not 
drawn  here. 

»  Cooley  on  Torts,  p.  46. 


JUSTICE  337 

Of  course  a  man  is  put  in  reasonable  fear  of  bodily  harm 
only  if  he  reasonably  believes  that  some  one  intends  to  and 
can  harm  hira ;  intent  is  of  the  essence  of  this  wrong. 

As  regards  "mental  annoyance,  witliout  demonstrable 
malicious  intent  .  .  .  reflection  will  at  once  show,"  as 
Professor  Sidgwick  says,  "  that  we  cannot  hope  to  prevent 
this  with  anything  like  completeness.  B  may  be  offended 
by  the  colour  of  A's  dress,  or  the  cut  of  his  beard,  his  move- 
ments in  public,  and  the  expression  of  opinions  and  senti- 
ments; but  it  is  obvious  that  the  attempt  to  shield  B 
completely  from  annoyance  thus  caused  would  involve 
tenfold  more  vexatious  interference  with  A." 

It  would  appear  that  the  civil  law  approximates  nearer 
to  moral  truth  in  declaring  mental  injuries  to  be  wrongs, 
while  the  common  law  is  more  practical.  The  courts  can, 
from  the  nature  of  the  case,  do  little  that  is  effective  in 
l)reventing  mental  injury  to  individuals ;  even  public  con- 
science cannot  go  much  further,  and  private  conscience  must 
be  chiefly  depended  upon.  But  while  mental  injury  is  ex- 
tremely diflScult  to  prevent,  and  besides  is  largely  unavoid- 
able, because  incident  to  life  in  society,  it  is  plain  that  the 
just  man  would  not  wantonly  or  negligently  inflict  mental 
injury  or  annoyance,  any  more  than  he  would  physical 
injury  or  annoyance. 

(3)  The  "  right "  to  liberty  is  so  extensive  and  on  the 
whole  so  amply  protected  in  modern  civilized  communities, 
that  it  has  to  be  negatively  defined,  by  specification  of  the 
exceptional  conditions  under  which  restrictions  are  im- 
posed upon  it.  Legally  defined,  any  man  is  at  liberty  to 
do  anything  whatever  that  he  pleases,  except  what  is  pro- 
hibited by  law.  Article  7  of  the  Belgian  Constitution  sub- 
stantially provides,  that  individual  liberty  is  guaranteed, 
and  that  no  man  shall  be  sued  or  arrested,  except  in  cases 
provided  by  law,  and  in  the  form  the  law  prescribes.  And 
this  provision  is  in  full  agreement  with  the  rules  of  all 
civilized  law. 


338  ETHICS 

Of  course,  it  is  only  when  in  presence  of  a  full  account 
of  just  or  rather  of  unjust  conduct,  that  the  just  limita- 
tions upon  individual  freedom  can  be  fully  understood. 
But  in  general  we  already  know  that  no  man  is  at  liberty 
to  inflict  either  private  or  public  wrongs,  or  to  withhold 
from  any  man  the  services  he  owes  him,  or  to  treat  the 
unjust  in  any  way  that  is  not  just.  And  we  also  know,  in 
accordance  with  the  last  paragraph,  that  to  curtail  any 
man's  liberty  in  any  way  other  than  those  suggested  is  to 
inflict  on  him  a  wrong,  for  he  has  a  right  to  do  what  he 
pleases,  provided  he  observes  the  legal  and  moral  restric- 
tions suggested.  But  in  addition  to  this  general  knowl- 
edge, we  have  some  special  knowledge,  suggested  by  the 
law  of  torts,  of  the  special  wrongs  that  are  reckoned  under 
the  head  of  unjust  interference  with  individual  liberty. 
And  first,  subject  to  the  exceptions  discussed,  actual  physi- 
cal interference  is  a  wrong.  To  bind  or  otherwise  confine 
a  man's  limbs  or  to  imprison  him  is  an  evident  wrong. 
And  imprisonment  does  not  merely  mean  putting  in  a  pub- 
lic prison,  but  any  interference  with  freedom  of  motion  and 
locomotion,  as  by  locking  in  a  room,  for  however  short  a 
period,  or  by  standing  over  a  man  with  a  cocked  revolver 
with  apparent  intent  to  fire  if  he  attempts  to  escape. 

Again,  mental  coercion  or  intimidation  is  a  wrong  in 
many  cases,  though  just  what  these  cases  are  it  is  extremely 
diflScult  to  specify.  The  following  account  by  Professor 
Sidgwick  is  an  unusually  good  interpretation  of  the  spirit 
of  the  law :  "  There  is  no  doubt  that  to  cause  alarm  by 
doing  or  threatening  wrongful  acts,  or  to  endeavour  by 
any  kind  of  threats  to  induce  a  man  to  do  wrongful  acts 
or  abstain  from  fulfilling  definite  duties,  are  wrongful 
interferences,  which  call  for  legal  repression.  But  when 
A,  by  doing  something  in  itself  legitimate  but  damaging  or 
annoying  to  B,  induces  B  to  act  in  a  manner  opposed  to  B's 
interests  or  inclinations,  but  not  involving  a  breach  of  legal 
[or  moral]  duty,  it  is  a  more  difficult  question  whether  this 


JUSTICE  889 

kind  of  intimidation  can  in  any  case  be  regarded  as  a  legal 
wrong  from  the  individualistic  point  of  view  [i.e.  the  point 
of  view  of  private  interests].  We  can  hardly  lay  down 
that  an  intention  to  coerce  renders  an  act  wrong  that  would 
otherwise  be  legitimate,  no  less  than  an  intention  to  injure. 
For  there  are  many  cases  in  which  a  coercive  intent  is  also 
plainly  beneficent,  either  in  the  interest  of  the  person 
coerced  or  of  the  community:  as  when  a  father  notifies 
to  a  son  that  he  will  lose  a  legacy  if  he  runs  into  debt,  or 
when  persons  are  prevented  or  reclaimed  from  vice  by  fear 
of  exclusion  from  social  relations.  It  would  be  paradoxical 
to  regard  such  warnings  and  exclusions  as  wrongs,  merely 
because  they  are  intended  to  be  coercive.  ...  At  the 
same  time,  whenever  the  direct  or  main  intent  of  any 
action  is  to  induce  a  man  by  fear  or  damage  to  do  what, 
apart  from  such  inducement,  he  would  consider  to  be 
opposed  to  his  interest,  the  action  seems  to  be  at  least  of 
doubtful  legitimacy  from  an  individualistic  point  of  view ; 
and  cases  similar  to  those  above  mentioned  may  easily  be 
found  which  would  be  generally  disapproved;  e.g.  if  a 
father  were  to  warn  a  son  that  he  would  lose  a  legacy  if 
he  did  not  join  the  Church  of  Rome,  or  if  an  employer 
were  to  give  notice  that  he  would  engage  no  workmen  who 
declined  to  take  a  pledge  of  abstinence  from  tobacco.  .  .  . 
On  the  whole,  we  may  say  that  conduct  of  this  kind  lies 
on  the  ambiguous  margin  between  what  an  individualistic 
code  should  allow  and  what  it  should  prevent.  ...  A 
particular  case  that  is  free  from  difficulty  is  where  the  act 
threatened  is  one  that  either  ought  not  to  be  done  at  all,  or 
ought  to  be  done  with  a  view  to  the  public  benefit ;  —  such 
as  an  accusation  of  crime.  The  wrongfulness  of  threaten- 
ing an  act  of  this  kind  with  a  view  to  private  gain,  to  be 
obtained  by  inducing  persons  whom  it  might  harm  to  pur- 
chasing the  threatener's  silence,  is  easily  recognized  and  de- 
fined. Another  case  that  especially  invites  the  legislator's 
attention,  as  especially  menacing  to  the  freedom  of  Individ- 


^40  ETHICS 

uals,  is  where  a  number  of  persons  combine  to  intimidate 
by  threatening  acts  which,  though  not  illegal  apart  from 
their  coercive  purpose,  are  demonstrably  threatened  and 
carried  out  for  that  purpose."  ^  It  may  be  added  that  the 
wrongfulness  of  putting  a  man  in  reasonable  fear  of  personal 
violence  is  partly  due  to  the  normal  interference  of  such 
action  with  individual  liberty,  and  partly  also  to  the  im- 
mediate mental  injury  to  which  it  gives  rise.  When 
threats  are  directed  towards  persons  in  whom  the  person 
to  be  coerced  is  warmly  interested,  the  rule  is  the  same, 
though  in  that  case,  when  there  is  a  wrong,  a  double  wrong 
is  inflicted. 

(4)  The  law  of  property  is  too  intricate  to  be  discussed 
here,  except  in  outline.  That  law  defines  the  different 
kinds  of  "property  "  individuals  have  in  material  objects 
under  different  conditions,  and  any  interference  with  the 
"  property  "  a  man  has  in  any  object  is  a  wrong  to  him. 

In  other  words,  the  moral  question  really  is.  What  prop- 
erty is  it  right  that  men  should  have  in  various  objects 
under  specified  conditions,  what  use  of  the  objects  have 
men  a  right  to  make,  and  to  be  protected  in  ?  This  raises 
difficult  questions,  upon  which  the  law  and  its  evolution 
throw  not  a  little  light,  but  the  subject  is  too  involved  in 
technicalities  to  be  profitable  for  discussion  here. 

All  that  need  be  said  here  is,  that  A  commits  an  injus- 
tice if  he  trespasses  on  B's  real  property,  or  if  he  interferes 
with  his  personal  property  in  any  of  the  five  following 
ways:  (a)  by  injuriously  affecting  it,  as  by  killing  or 
wounding  an  animal,  burning  goods,  etc. ;  (6)  by  tempo- 
rarily interfering  with  the  use  or  enjoyment  of  the  thing, 
without  injuring  it  or  permanently  interfering  with  the 
owner's  enjoyment  of  it,  as  by  taking  another's  horse  without 
his  consent,  and  using  him  for  a  time  and  returning  him ; 
(c)  by  permanently  depriving  the  owner  of  the  thing,  as  by 
taking  property  and  keeping  it  away  from  the  owner ;  (c?) 
»  Op.  cit.  pp.  69,  60. 


JUSTICE  341 

by  unlawfully  continuing  a  possession  once  lawful,  as  by 
the  wrongful  detention  of  freight,  e.g.  after  tender  of  full 
payment ;  (e)  by  surrender  of  property  lawfully  in  posses- 
sion to  one  without  authority  or  right  to  receive  it.*  This 
list  will  serve  to  suggest  some  of  the  wrongs  against 
property. 

(5)  It  is  often  a  wrong  to  inflict  injury  or  annoyance 
by  interfering  with  a  man's  relations  to  other  persons, 
though  here  again  there  is  much  difficulty  in  distinguish- 
ing between  wrongful  and  allowable  injury.  It  is  of 
course  a  wrong  to  induce  C  to  refuse  to  do  his  duty  to  B, 
whether  that  duty  is  a  family  duty  or  a  duty  based  on 
some  other  relationship  between  B  and  C.  To  induce 
another  to  do  a  wrong,  is  to  do  a  wrong  one's  self ;  that  is 
a  well-recognized  general  principle  of  justice.  But  when  C 
is  induced  to  do  something  which  is  not  a  wrong,  as  com- 
ing from  him,  but  is  annoying  or  injurious  to  B,  the  case 
is  much  more  difficult.  Still,  when  A's  direct  or  main 
intent  is  to  induce  C  to  annoy  or  injure  B,  there  is  at  least 
a  presumption  that  A  has  wronged  B  on  analogy  with  the 
case  previously  discussed.  And  possibly  there  are  other 
cases  of  wrongs  through  the  interference  with  the  social 
relations  of  individuals,  but  they  do  not  lend  themselves 
to  definite  specification,  with  the  exception  of  injuries  to 
reputation,  which  are  included  among  wrongs  in  all  civil- 
ized systems  of  law. 

The  difficulty  in  this  case  is  to  adjust  to  each  other 
the  "rights"  to  reputation,  on  the  one  hand,  and  to  free 
speech,  on  the  other.  For,  while  attacks  on  an  individ- 
ual's reputation  probably  cause  him  suffering,  and  injure 
him  by  hampering  his  social  activities,  restrictions  on 
free  speech  incommode  and  ham|)er  those  against  whom 
they  are  enforced,  and  besides   deprive   society  of   the 

» I  owe  this  classification  of  wronRs  afjainat  personal  property  to  my 
colleague,  Judge  John  C.  Townes,  though  1  have  made  some  alieralioM  for 
"Which  he  is  not  responsible. 


342  ETHICS 

advantage  of  being  informed  of  the  defects  of  its  members. 
But  with  some  care  in  following  the  practice  of  the  courts, 
some  helpful  rules  can  be  set  down. 

In  the  first  place,  to  publish,  i.e.  to  make  known  or  ciiv 
culate,  "  any  untrue  statement  about  another  which  is  cal- 
culated to  injure  his  interests,  character,  or  reputation,"  ^ 
is  to  do  him  a  wrong.^  Moreover,  honest  belief  in  the 
truth  of  the  injurious  statement  does  not  prevent  it  from 
being  a  wrong.  Even  a  reasonable  belief  that  it  is  true 
does  not  relieve  of  responsibility.  "Persons  must  often 
pay  heavy  damages  for  giving  currency  to  statements 
which  were  not  meant  to  be  falsehoods,  and  which  were 
reasonably  believed  to  be  true."  ^  A  man's  reputation  is 
of  the  greatest  value  to  him,  and  any  one  who  injures  it  by 
false  statements  is  responsible  for  reparation. 

But  while  every  false  statement  injurious  to  any  indi- 
vidual is  a  wrong  to  him,  it  is  not  easy  to  say  whether  the 
truth  of  an  injurious  statement  always  prevents  it  from 
being  a  wrong  to  the  individual  about  whom  it  is  made. 
The  law  only  gives  individuals  the  right  to  so  much  repu- 
tation as  the  true  facts  with  regard  to  them  insure;  in 
other  words,  the  man  who  has  been  injured  by  a  true 
statement  has  no  legal  remedy,  and  no  legal  wrong  has 
been  done  him.     But  the  criminal  law  imposes  penalties 

^  Dicey,  Law  of  the  Constitution,  p.  231. 

*  To  be  sure,  official  utterances  by  executive,  legislative,  and  judicial 
officers,  unperjured  statements  by  sworn  witnesses,  and  confidential  com- 
munications, e.g.  advice  from  parents  to  children,  warnings  from  coun- 
sellors to  clients,  and  from  guardians  to  wards,  are  never  legal  wrongs, 
however  injurious  to  the  reputation  of  individuals.  But  these  exemp- 
tions are  plainly  made  on  the  ground  of  expediency  rather  than  of  jus- 
tice. Plainly  false  statements  whose  main  and  direct  intent  is  to  injure, 
are  wrongs  to  individuals  injured  by  them,  and  in  morals  practically  the 
same  rules  apply  in  these  as  in  other  cases,  except  in  so  far  as  there  is 
sometimes  an  obligation  to  make  some  statement  in  these  cases,  i.e.  in  so 
far  as  silence  is  sometimes  not  permissible,  and  therefore  false  statements 
are  not  always  avoidable. 

«  Dicey,  op.  cit.  p.  232. 


JUSTICE  MS 

for  the  publication  even  of  true  injurious  statements,  if 
the  public  has  no  interest  in  knowing  the  facts  stated. 
Possibly  when  injurious  but  entirely  useless  statements 
abtjut  men  are  true,  they  are  so  much  more  prominently 
public  than  private  wrongs  that  they  should  be  classed 
under  the  former  head  only.  But  when  such  statements 
not  only  serve  no  useful  public  purpose,  but  in  addition 
are  made  with  malicious  intent  to  injure  the  individual 
about  whom  they  are  made,  it  would  seem  that  they  are 
wrongs  to  him.  Would  it  not  be  a  wrong  to  a  useful,  set- 
tled, and  respected  clergyman  to  publish,  with  malicious 
intent,  an  account  of  one  of  his  youthful  escapades  ? 

So  far  statements  of  fact  have  been  under  consideration. 
As  regards  statements  of  opinion,  the  rule  is  not  difficult 
to  state,  difficult  as  it  is  to  apply.  In  the  words  of  Pro- 
fessor Dicey:  "Every  one  has  a  right  to  publish  fair  and 
candid  criticism.  But  *a  critic  must  confine  himself  to 
criticism,  and  not  make  it  the  veil  for  personal  censure, 
nor  allow  himself  to  run  into  reckless  and  unfair  attacks 
merely  from  the  love  of  exercising  his  power  of  denuncia- 
tion.' "  1 

(6)  "  A  somewhat  similar  problem  is  presented  in  the 
case  of  injury  done  to  a  man  by  false  statements  made  not 
about  him  but  to  him.  If  statements  of  this  kind  can  be 
shown  to  have  been  made  with  intent  to  mislead,  it  seems 
clear  that  they  —  as  well  as  other  deceptive  acts  —  should 
be  repressed  by  making  the  deceiver  liable  for  any  serious 
damage  caused  by  his  deception.  But  if  there  is  no 
demonstrable  intention  to  deceive,  the  question  is  less 
easy ;  since  it  would  too  seriously  hamper  the  freedom  of 
human  intercourse  if  a  man  were  held  legally  responsible 
for  all  the  harm  done  by  statements  made  to  other  men 
without  an  exact  regard  to  truth.  If,  however,  A  makes 
statements  to  B  with  the  deliberate  design  of  inducing 

*  Op.  cit.  p.  232.  The  inner  qaoUtion  ia  from  Odgen,  IaM  and 
Slander,  p.  38. 


344  ETHICS 

him  to  act  in  a  certain  way  for  the  promotion  of  A's  inter- 
ests, it  is  specially  incumbent  on  him  —  and  not  too  much 
to  require  —  that  he  should  resist  the  temptation  to  make 
statements  which  he  does  not  know  to  be  true,  in  the 
hope  that  they  may  turn  out  to  be  so ;  hence,  in  this  case, 
not  only  consciously  false  but  grossly  reckless  statements, 
which  actually  cause  material  damage,  may  fairly  be 
regarded  as  wrongs  needing  reparation."  ^ 

As  a  statement  of  proper  legal  responsibility  for  damag- 
ing false  statements  to  individuals,  the  above  would  be 
very  difficult  to  improve  on  in  an  equal  space.  From 
the  point  of  view  of  objective  morality,  it  need  only  be 
added  that  a  wrong  is  done  a  man  when  injury  is  the  "  imme- 
diate "  and  "  direct "  effect  of  a  statement  which  wise  men 
would  know  to  be  false,  and  not  merely  of  statements  the 
speaker  knew  to  be  false. 

Reparation.  —  We  now  have  some  idea  of  what  wrongs 
or  injustices  are,  and  the  question  arises  as  to  what  is 
required  of  him  who  has  wronged  his  fellow-man.  The 
question  is  the  more  important  inasmuch  as  men  not  in- 
frequently wrong  one  another,  and  will  continue  to  do  so 
as  long  as  they  remain  imperfect.  The  answer  of  the 
courts  is  that  wrongs  give  birth  to  secondary  rights  and 
duties :  rights  on  the  part  of  the  wronged  to  reparation, 
and  duties  on  the  part  of  the  wrong-doers  to  make  repara- 
tion to  them.  And  reparation,  so  far  as  it  can  be  enforced 
by  the  courts,  consists  in  the  payment  of  such  money 
damages  in  each  case  as  will  as  nearly  as  possible  put  the 
injured  partj'  in  the  position  he  would  have  occupied  had 
no  wrong  been  done  him.  But  the  restriction  to  money 
damages  is  clearly  a  legal  restriction,  made  necessary  by 
the  limitation  on  the  power  of  the  courts.  The  moral 
duty,  when  one  has  wronged  any  man,  is  to  put  him,  so 
far  as  possible,  and  hy  the  best  means  available,  into  the 
position  he  would  have  occupied  had  no  wrong  been  done 

» Sidgwick,  op.  cit.  p.  68-69. 


JUSTICE  345 

him.     The  tragedy  of  wrong-doing  consists  in  the  fact  that 
it  is  seldom  if  ever  possible  to  make  adequate  reparation. 

§  5.     Public  Wrongs 

Public  wrongs,  including  the  better  known  class  of 
crimes,  are  more  familiar  than  private  wrongs,  and  will 
not  call  for  extended  treatment.  Wharton  ^  has  a  conven- 
ient classification  of  public  wrongs  into  offences  against  the 
person,  against  property,  against  society,  and  against  the 
government.  And  in  addition  to  being  convenient,  this 
classification  is  philosophical,  for  the  body  politic  may  in 
fact  be  wronged  by  attack  either  on  its  individual  members 
or  on  property  rights,  or  on  the  state  and  its  subdivisions, 
or  on  the  government  which  is  the  representative  of  the 
state.  Indeed,  it  would  be  a  true  if  vague  account  of  the 
subject  to  say,  that  any  one  who  inflicts  injuries  on  or 
impairs  the  security  of  persons,  property,  society,  or  gov- 
ernment is  guilty  of  public  wrong.  But  it  is  possible  to 
give  somewhat  fuller  ideas  of  wrongs  of  these  four  kinds. 

Offences  against  the  person  and  against  property  are 
practically  the  same  as  the  private  wrongs  already  dis- 
cussed, and  need  not  be  further  considered  here.  The 
identity  goes  so  far  that,  with  a  few  exceptions  of  little 
present  concern,  the  line  between  just  and  unjust  injuries 
is  the  same  in  the  case  of  public  and  of  private  wrongs. 
In  short,  unjust  injuries  to  the  person  and  to  property  are 
wrongs  at  once  to  the  injured  party  and  to  the  public' 

Offences  against  society  may  roughly  be  divided  into 
deceitful  injuries,  e.g.  perjury,  which  interferes  with  the 
course  of  justice,  and  breaches  of  trust ;  offences  against 

^American  Criminal  Law.  The  author  recognlws  a  fifth  cIsm, 
offences  on  the  high  seas,  dealt  with  by  admiralty  court*,  but  for  our 
porpoees  these  crimes  may  be  classed  under  one  or  another  o(  the  four 
heads  mentioned  in  the  text. 

«  Of  course  there  are  many  technical  difference*  between  crime*  and 
torta,  but  every  wrong  to  an  Individual  or  to  his  property  ia  a  wrong  to 
the  public. 


346  ETHICS 

public  order  and  comfort,  such  as  riot,  criminal  libel,  pub- 
lic nuisance ;  offences  against  the  family,  e.g.  bigamy, 
adultery,  seduction ;  and  offences  against  governmental 
enterprises  for  the  social  good,  like  the  post-office  or  the 
coast  survey. 

Offences  against  the  government  include,  among  others, 
treason,  extortion  and  misconduct  in  office,  and  bribery. 
Of  course  some  offences  falling  under  this  head  are  subject 
to  the  right  of  revolution,  though  the  courts  cannot  prop- 
erly recognize  the  fact,  except  very  indirectly. 

This  completes  what  can  be  said  with  regard  to  the  first 
great  subdivision  of  justice.  Bearing  in  mind  what  wrongs 
consist  in,  one  characteristic  of  the  just  man  would  be  his 
refusal  to  do  wrong,  either  to  a  private  individual  or  to 
the  public. 

§  6.   Duties  arising  from  Agreements  and  Promises 

Both  morality  and  the  law  have  been  much  slower  and 
more  cautious  in  enforcing  duties  of  benefaction  than  in 
prohibiting  the  infliction  of  injuries.  Very  noticeable  in 
all  early  moral  codes  is  the  large  preponderance  of  "  thou 
shalt  not."  And  similarly,  the  law  of  torts  and  the  crimi- 
nal law  appear  some  time  before  the  law  of  contract  and 
of  duties  arising  out  of  relations  between  individuals; 
indeed,  the  last-named  subdivision  of  law  has  not  been 
systematized  even  yet.  Probably  it  is  in  part  because  of 
the  great  reliance  in  the  matter  of  benefaction  on  the 
natural  feelings  and  inclinations  discussed  in  the  last  chap- 
ter, and  in  part  because  the  value  of  benefactions  depends 
so  largely  on  the  spirit  in  which  they  are  made,  that  the 
law  and  morality  have  been  so  slow  to  define  and  enforce 
any  but  the  most  rudimentary  of  such  duties.  But  what- 
ever the  reasons,  the  fact  remains,  and,  joined  to  the  dif- 
ficulty of  the  subject,  it  places  many  obstacles  in  the  way 
of  a  systematic  and  adequate  account  of  the  duties  of  bene- 
faction, especially  of  those  that  rest  on  personal  relations. 


JUSTICE  347 

The  latter  duties,  however,  will  be  reserved  for  treatment 
in  the  next  section,  the  present  section  being  concerned 
with  duties  arising  from  agreements  and  promises. 

Agreement  as  the  Basis  of  Duties  of  Benefaction.  —  The 
term  "  agreement "  is  used  in  place  of  the  legal  term  "  con- 
tract "  for  the  same  reason  that  private  wrong  was  used  in 
place  of  tort.  For  some  agreements  which  are  not  con- 
tracts give  rise  to  duties,  and  contracts  give  rise  to  duties 
not  recognized  by  law.  But  it  is  the  law  of  contract  that 
enables  us  to  discover  duties  of  both  kinds.  For  the  sake 
of  convenience  it  may  be  said  here,  that  an  agreement  is 
made  when  a  service  is  voluntarily  performed  or  promised 
by  one  party,  because  of  some  inducement  given  by  another 
party,  both  parties  having  the  same  understanding  of  the 
inducement  and  its  purpose.  In  the  case  of  a  mere  prom- 
ise there  is  no  such  quid  pro  quo. 

All  students  of  society  recognize  the  fundamental  im- 
portance of  contracts  and  other  agreements.  Division  of 
labour  and  specialization  are  essential  to  even  a  rudimentary 
prosperity,  and  must  be  carried  very  far  if  welfare  is  to 
become  at  all  marked.  But  division  of  labour  and  spe- 
cialization effectively  promote  welfare  only  if  there  is 
free  mutual  exchange  of  products  and  services,  and  such 
exchange  cannot  take  place  except  by  means  of  contracts 
and  agreements  that  are  respected  by  the  parties  con- 
cerned and  upheld  by  the  corporate  power  of  society.  It 
is  only  by  means  of  agreements,  some  tacit,  but  many 
explicit,  that  the  individual  members  of  society  can  reach 
beyond  their  isolated  individuality,  and  organize  them- 
selves into  a  more  comprehensive  social  unity.  A  society 
in  which  agreements  ceased  to  be  made,  or,  if  made,  ceased 
to  be  held  sacred,  would  soon  disintegrate,  and  become  as 
a  heap  of  sand. 

And  of  course  the  peculiar  value  of  agreements  arises 
from  the  fact  that  the  agreeing  individuals  voluntarily 
impose  regulations  upon  themselves ;  as  the  French  civil 


348  ETHICS 

code  says,  "  Legally  formed  agreements  hold  the  place  of 
law  for  those  who  have  made  them."  Men  can  render 
services  and  transfer  valuable  possessions,  and  it  rests  with 
each  to  secure  something  of  equal  value  in  return  for  what 
he  has  given.  When  two  parties  have  reached  an  under- 
standing, and  have  consented  thereto,  to  ask  each  to  fulfil 
his  part  of  the  engagement  is  merely  to  ask  him  to  fulfil 
the  obligations  he  has  laid  upon  himself. 

The  Characteristics  of  Genuine  Agreements.  —  Indeed,  a 
full  half  of  the  rules  of  contract  are  definatory  rather  than 
regulative.  Their  main  purpose  is  to  make  as  clear  as  pos- 
sible what  an  agreement  is,  in  order  that  the  courts  may 
insist  on  the  proper  performance  of  agreements,  and  may 
not  enforce  unreal  and  merely  apparent  agreements.  The 
requirements  of  genuine  agreements  may  be  briefly  dis- 
cussed under  four  heads :  (1)  the  capacity  of  the  parties, 
(2)  mutual  understanding  and  consent,  (3)  implied  con- 
sent, and  (4)  real  consent. 

(1)  While  incompetent  persons  may  commit  torts,  per- 
sonal capacity  is  essential  for  the  formation  of  contracts, 
for  the  reason  that  in  their  contracts  and  agreements  men 
impose  obligations  on  themselves,  and,  of  course,  men  with- 
out will  or  with  wills  too  seriously  impaired  can  impose 
nothing  either  on  themselves,  or  on  any  one  else. 

The  problem  of  personal  capacity  has  already  been  dis- 
cussed in  Chapter  II  from  what  may  be  called  the  sub- 
jective point  of  view,  and  that  discussion  need  not  be 
repeated  here.  The  law,  however,  looks  at  the  problem 
from  the  objective  point  of  view ;  which  it  is  able  to  da 
because  certain  rather  well-defined  classes  of  persons  are, 
for  practical  purposes,  either  because  of  limitations  on 
their  powers,  or  because  of  the  influences  surrounding 
them,  always  disabled  from  exercising  their  volition  freely. 
Among  the  classes  of  persons  in  question  are  infants  (those 
who  have  not  come  of  age),  married  women  (partially  now, 
in  some  jurisdictions,  entirely  at  common  law),  the  men- 


JUSTICE  349 

tally  unsound  (including  the  intoxicated)  during  their 
insanity,  and  convicted  criminals.  The  principle  of  the 
law  is,  that  contractual  obligations  cannot  as  a  rule  (proof 
of  competence  is  in  some  cases  allowed)  be  enforced  against 
persons  belonging  to  these  classes,  though  certain  contracts 
in  their  favour  can,  if  properly  formed,  be  enforced  at  their 
instance.  In  effect,  then,  these  incompetents  cannot  im- 
pose obligations  upon  themselves,  but,  of  course,  the  other 
parties  to  agreements  with  them  are  not  prevented  thereby 
from  imposing  obligations  on  themselves.  It  is  for  con- 
venience tliat  the  law  points  out  these  classes  of  persons 
who  are  normally  without  capacity  freely  to  contract.  The 
important  point  is,  that  men  who  are  not  able  freely  to  give 
or  withhold  consent,  in  the  senses  explained  in  Chapter  II, 
cannot  bind  themselves  by  agreements. 

(2)  In  order  to  an  agreement  there  must  also  be  a  pro- 
posal, an  acceptance,  and  an  identical  or  mutual  under- 
standing, "the  meeting  of  minds  in  one  and  the  same 
intention."  Obviously,  if  B  accepts  when  A  has  made 
no  proposal,  or  if  A  makes  a  proposal  and  B  does  not 
accept  it,  there  is  no  agreement.  But  there  must  be 
no  misunderstanding  of  what  is  proposed  and  accepted. 
Where  A  ofiFers  to  do  X  if  B  will  do  Y,  and  B  accepts, 
understanding  that  A  will  do  W  if  he  (B)  will  do  Z, 
there  is  no  agreement,  for  the  two  minds  have  not  met. 
Of  course  the  misunderstanding  or  mistake  must  be  in  a 
vital  or  material  point,  otherwise  it  has  no  effect,  or  else 
an  equitable  accommodation  may  be  effected  without  de- 
feating the  contract.  Not  a  little  difficulty  is  sometimes 
experienced  in  determining  whether  or  not  there  has  been 
a  material  misunderstanding. 

(3)  In  some  cases  consent  is  expressed  in  words,  but 
in  many  it  is  implied  from  actions.  Of  course  the  parties 
cannot  divine  each  other's  consent  wholly  without  the  aid 
of  physical  clews.  Mutual  consent  is  most  clearly  ex- 
pressed in  words,  as  when  A  says  to  B,  "  I  will  sell  you 


350  ETHICS 

my  horse  here  for  fifty  dollars,"  and  B  answers,  "  I  will 
buy  him  at  that  price."  But  conduct  will  serve  as  well 
as  words.  A  moving  street-car  is  an  offer  to  those  within 
hail  to  carry  them  over  certain  lines  for  the  customary 
price ;  and  the  act  of  getting  on  to  the  car  is  an  acceptance 
of  the  offer,  and  a  promise  to  fulfil  its  conditions.  Again, 
A  advertises  a  reward  for  his  wife's  lost  bracelet,  and  B, 
who  brings  it  to  him,  is  entitled  to  the  reward  promised. 
And  in  general,  if  A  so  conducts  himself  towards  B  that 
a  man  in  B's  place  who  was  reasonable,  and  reasonably 
competent  in  the  matter  in  hand,  would  understand  A  to 
make  an  offer,  and  if  B  thereupon  so  conducts  himself 
towards  A  that  a  reasonable  and  reasonably  competent 
man  in  A's  place  would  understand  that  B  accepts  the 
offer,  then  a  binding  agreement  is  made  between  A  and 
B,  provided  other  essential  conditions  are  fulfilled. 

But  not  only  express  agreements  are  binding ;  some 
tacit  agreements  are  recognized  by  law,  and  many  more 
are  morally  binding.  Conduct  which  as  a  matter  of  cus- 
tom is  naturally  and  normally  followed  by  benefactions 
to  others,  provided  they  have  in  turn  responded  appropri- 
ately, imposes  the  duty  of  conferring  the  expected  benefit, 
provided  the  response  is  made.  In  proportion  as  the  cus- 
tom is  well  established,  and  as  it  is  reasonable,  the  duty 
becomes  stronger;  and,  at  the  other  extreme,  a  custom 
that  is  much  disregarded,  or  that  is  seriously  disapproved 
by  most  judicious  persons,  does  not  give  rise  to  any  duty. 
In  Europe  failure  to  give  the  customary  fee  to  attentive 
servants,  in  restaurants  and  elsewhere,  is  nearly  on  a  par 
with  failure  to  pay  for  a  meal,  for  it  is  in  that  form  that 
these  servants  receive  their  wages.  But  where  the  custom 
is  barely  beginning  and  little  observed,  the  questionable 
wisdom  of  the  practice  may  make  disregard  of  it  a  duty. 
This  simple  example  may  serve  to  suggest  how  more  seri- 
ous situations  should  be  regarded.  It  is  interesting  to 
find  this  principle  accepted  by  the  law,  for  it  is  of  great 


JUSTICE  861 

importance  in  social  life.  No  doubt  it  lacks  precision,  as 
from  the  natiire  of  the  case  is  inevitable,  and,  besides,  it  is 
often  difficult  to  apply.  But  without  it  forecast  of  the 
conduct  of  others  would  be  all  but  impossible,  and  mutual 
distrust  —  at  best  something  worse  than  the  state  of  mind 
of  a  man  beginning  business  in  a  foreign  country,  and 
totally  ignorant  of  its  commercial  customs  —  would  pre- 
vail throughout  the  community.  Besides,  one  party  has 
accepted  benefits,  conferred  upon  him  with  the  natural  and 
normal  expectation  that  he  would  make  due  return,  and 
it  is  only  just,  under  the  circumstances  indicated,  that  he 
should  make  the  return  expected. 

(4)  But  although  the  parties  to  a  pretended  agreement 
may  have  capacity,  and  may  satisfactorily  express  mutual 
consent,  the  consent  is  not  really  genuine  in  certain  cases, 
where  it  is  induced  (a)  by  coercion  or  (6)  by  misrepresen- 
tation. And  the  consent  is  not  genuine  because,  in  the 
first  case,  it  is  not  free,  and  in  the  second  case  it  is  predi- 
cated upon  facts  represented  as  being  other  than  they  are. 
But  it  is  not  altogether  easy  to  determine  what  form  of 
coercion  and  what  forms  of  misrepresentation  invalidate 
the  genuineness,  and  therefore  the  obligation  of  agreements. 

(a)  Of  course  coercion  does  not  invalidate  an  agree- 
ment, unless  the  latter  either  would,  not  have  been  made 
at  all,  or  would  not  have  contained  the  provisions  it  did, 
had  it  not  been  for  the  coercion.  With  that  limitation, 
actual  or  threatened  violence  by  one  to  the  other  contract- 
ing party,  or  to  his  wife,  parent,  child,  or  some  other  person 
whose  injury  would  affect  him  similarly,  plainly  invalidates 
the  agreement,  at  the  option  of  the  party  whose  consent 
is  thus  enforced.  Nor  is  there  any  doubt  but  that  any 
violation,  or  threatened  violation  of  one  party's  right*  by 
the  other,  would  have  the  same  effect.  The  party  violat- 
ing the  rights  would  be  guilty  of  wrong-doing,  and  it 
should  not  be,  and  legally  is  not  made  to  his  advantage  so 
to  act.     But  many  cases  of  coercion  are  not  as  plain  as 


852  ETHICS 

these,  and  two  discussed  by  Professor  Sidgwick  will  serve 
to  suggest  more  doubtful  cases.  In  the  first  place,  he 
asks,  "  whether  the  law  should  interfere  to  prevent  a 
contract  in  which  A  gains  by  the  distress  of  B,  even 
though  A  is  in  no  way  responsible  for  the  distress,  nor 
legally  bound  to  relieve  it."  The  author  implies  that 
fiome  agreements  of  the  kind  should  not  be  enforced  by 
the  courts,  and  while  the  question  before  him  is  one  of 
legal  policy,  i.e.  as  to  whether  or  not  such  contracts  should 
be  made  invalid  at  law,  yet  his  answer  is  in  harmony  with 
the  trend  of  recent  legislation  and  moral  insight.  For  it 
seems  plain  that  if  B  is  not  merely  at  a  disadvantage,  but 
is  in  actual  distress,  it  is  not  just  for  A  to  take  advantage 
of  him  by  imposing  hard  conditions,  or  to  enforce  the 
agreement  once  it  has  been  obtained.  And  in  the  second 
place,  "  Suppose,"  he  says,  "  A  induces  B  to  enter  into  an 
agreement  by  threatening  some  act  or  omission  which  is 
not  illegal  or  in  itself  immoral,  but  which  will  as  a  mat- 
ter of  fact  be  seriously  annoying  to  B,  while  it  is  not  con- 
ducive to  A's  interests  otherwise  than  by  enabling  him  to 
obtain  B's  consent  to  the  agreement,  and  certainly  would 
not  have  taken  place  except  for  A's  desire  to  obtain  it." 
Here  again  the  author  is  concerned  with  the  legal  ques- 
tion, and  is  unable  to  find  an  answer  to  it.  And  the  moral 
question  is  equally  difficult.  To  be  sure,  A  probably  can- 
not be  justified  in  coercing  B  as  described,  but  it  is  not  so 
certain  that  B  is  absolved  from  his  obligation. 

(6)  In  this  case,  again,  the  validity  of  the  agreement  is 
affected  by  misrepresentation  only  when,  were  it  not  for 
the  misrepresentation,  the  agreement  would  not  have  been 
made,  or  would  have  contained  provisions  more  advanta- 
geous to  the  party  misled.  When  the  misrepresentation  is 
*'  a  false  representation  of  fact  by  one  party,  made  with  a 
knowledge  of  its  falsehood,  or  recklessly,  without  belief  in 
its  truth,  with  the  intention  that  it  should  be  acted  on 
by  the  other  party,"  and  when  the  other  party  is  thereby 


JUSTICE  553 

induced  to  enter  into  the  agreement,  the  validity  of  the 
latter  is  impaired  at  law  and  in  morality.  For  it  is  a 
principle  of  the  law  and  of  morality  that  every  intentional 
and  injurious  misrepresentation  is  a  wrong,  and  by  neither 
is  such  wrong-doing  made  advantageous,  nor  should  it  be. 
Again,  where  one  party  innocently  misinforms  the  other,  if 
the  misrepresentation  is  in  a  material  point  (consider  the 
first  sentence  of  the  paragraph),  the  latter  is  in  law,  should 
be,  and  by  a  just  man  would  be  given  the  option  of  release 
from  his  engagement.  So  much  for  misrepresentation  by 
innocent  or  deceitful  act  of  one  of  the  parties. 

As  regards  failure  to  disclose  facts  affecting  the  subject- 
matter  of  the  agreement,  the  general  legal  and  moral  rule 
is  caveat  emptor.  But  there  are  some  cases  where  the 
buyer,  i.e.  the  party  who  acquires  the  subject-matter  of 
the  exchange,  is  given  right  to  information  regarding  it 
that  is  not  only  truthful,  but  as  complete  in  material 
respects  as  the  seller  can  well  make  it.  This  right  exists 
(a)  where  the  buyer  is  at  a  great  and  insuperable  disad- 
vantage as  to  informing  himself  of  the  value  of  the  object 
to  be  bought,  and  (6)  where  the  relationship  of  the  par- 
ties, e.g.  attorney  and  client,  ex-guardian  and  ex-ward,  is 
such  that  the  buyer  has  a  right  to  assume  that  the  seller 
is  advising  him  for  his,  the  buyer's,  own  good.* 

Summing  up,  if  the  parties  have  not  capacity,  or  if  the 
consent,  expressed  or  implied,  is  not  genuine,  no  agree- 
ment has  been  formed,  provided  that  an  incapable  party 
can  in  some  cases  hold  the  other  party  to  the  agreement, 
if  he,  the  former,  desires  to  do  so.  And  in  the  cases  of 
coercion  and  misrepresentation  discussed,  the  coerced  or 
misled  party  can  hold  the  other  party  to  the  agreement 
or  not,  as  he  chooses.  In  short,  lack  of  capacity,  coercion 
and  misrepresentation  render  agreements  voidable,  absence 
of  mutual  consent  renders  them  void.     If  there  is  capac- 

» Cf .  Sidgwick,  op.  cit.  pp.  84-86. 
2a 


354  ETHICS 

ity,  mutual  consent,  and  real  consent,  agreements  impose 
obligations  that  we  must  now  go  on  to  consider. 

The  Obligations  imposed  by  Genuine  Agreements.  —  As- 
suming that  a  genuine  agreement  has  been  made,  what 
obligations  does  it  impose?  The  natural  answer  would 
seem  to  be  that  it  imposes  on  each  party  the  obligation  to 
do  what  he  undertook  to  do  when  he  consented  to  the 
agreement.  But  the  right  answer  is  not  so  simple.  For 
the  obligation  varies,  (1)  with  the  legality  and  morality 
of  the  object  of  the  agreement,  (2)  with  the  possibility  of 
performance,  and  (3)  with  the  burden  performance  puts 
upon  each  party.     Let  us  consider  these  points  in  turn. 

(1)  It  is  a  general  principle  of  law  that  those  agree- 
ments are  invalidated,  more  or  less  in  different  cases, 
which  have  an  illegal  object,  i.e.  which  are  either  contrary 
to  positive  law,  or  contrary  to  decency  and  morals,  or  con- 
trary to  public  policy.  Now  as  to  agreements  contrary  to 
positive  law,  it  is  evident  that  the  courts  should  not 
enforce  them,  either  on  the  party  who  undertakes  to  vio- 
late law,  or  on  the  party  who  undertakes  to  serve  the 
other  party  in  return  for  the  latter's  violation  of  law.  And 
as  regards  agreements  contrary  to  decency,  morals,  or  pub- 
lic policy,  it  is  evident  that  they  should  not  be  upheld  by 
the  whole  power  of  the  state,  but  that  at  best  they  should 
be  left  to  the  private  conscience  of  those  who  enter  inta 
them. 

But  the  moral  question  is  very  difficult,  so  difficult  that 
it  cannot  be  answered  in  general  terms;  and  besides  so 
casuistical  that  it  is  unprofitable  to  do  more  than  barely 
touch  on  it  here.  At  one  extreme,  there  are  agreements 
of  perfect  moral  validity  to  violate  immoral  laws.  At  the 
other  extreme,  agreements  which  have  in  view  the  com- 
mission of  grave  public  or  private  wrongs,  or  the  neglect 
of  plain  duties,  certainly  should  not  be  fulfilled,  though  it 
is  by  no  means  so  sure  that  the  party  who  retires  from 
such  agreements  is  absolved  from  making  reparation  to 


JUSTICE  856 

the  other  party.*  Between  these  two  extremes  there  are 
innumerable  conflicts  between  the  obligation  of  fulfilling 
agreements  and  other  duties  of  various  stringency,  atid 
problems  so  casuistical  had  best  be  passed  over.  Were 
only  the  actions  of  the  perfect  man  under  consideration, 
the  question  would  not  have  been  raised,  for  he  would  not 
be  beguiled  into  questionable  agreements.  But  the  judg- 
ment the  perfect  man  would  render  on  these  cases  when 
called  upon  to  speak  had  to  be  considered,  and  accord- 
ingly the  unsuccessful  attempt  was  made  to  interpret  that 
judgment. 

(2)  Suppose  it  becomes  impossible  to  fulfil  the  under- 
takings of  the  agreement,  what  obligation  remains?  The 
general  legal  and  moral  rule  is,  that  while  impossibility  of 
performance  of  course  renders  specific  fulfilment  impos- 
sible, it  imposes  in  place  full  obligation  to  pay  damages 
which  will,  so  far  as  possible,  compensate  the  other  party 
for  the  loss  suffered  through  non-performance.  For  in 
contracting  men  are  supposed  to  consider  the  risks,  and  to 
make  special  exceptions  of  cases  in  which  they  anticipate 
that  performance  will  be  impossible.  And  where  they 
fail  to  include  such  exceptions,  and  performance  becomes 
impossible,  they  must  as  a  rule  pay  damages.  Undertake 
only  what  you  can  perform,  but  if  you  cannot  perform 
what  you  undertake,  pay  damages:  so  say  morality  and 
the  law. 

And  it  may  be  said  here  that  where  the  breach  of  con- 
tract or  agreement  is  wilful,  instead  of  unavoidable,  there 
is  the  duty  to  pay  compensatory  damages,  and,  of  course, 
the  release  of  the  other  party. 

But  there  are  exceptions  to  the  general  rule.  For  there 
are  cases  where  the  impossibility  is  of  such  a  character 
that  neither  party  can  be  supposed  to  have  contemplated 

*  Where  reparation  is  a  duty,  the  ajjreementa  are  much  on  a  par  with 
agreements  involving  impoesible  or  ouerouB  performance.  Vide  (2)  and 
(8)  below. 


356  ETHICS 

its  occurrence,  so  that  the  promisor  neither  excepts  such 
contingencies  specifically,  nor  promises  unconditionally  in 
respect  to  them.  In  cases  falling  under  the  three  follow- 
ing heads  contracts  cannot  be  enforced  at  law  :  where  the 
thing  which  is  the  subject-matter  of  the  contract  is  de- 
stroyed without  fault  of  either  party,  where  a  party  agree- 
ing to  render  services  dies  or  becomes  incapable  of 
performing  them,  and  where  the  law  makes  impossible 
what  was  not  so  at  the  time  the  contract  was  entered  into. 
A  reading  of  the  cases  will  show  that  there  is  moral  as 
well  as  legal  justification  for  the  exceptions.  In  addition 
to  the  reasons  given  above,  in  the  three  cases  mentioned, 
and  in  others  similar  to  them,  the  impossibility  is  in  the 
nature  of  a  calamity,  and  the  party  who  suffers  by  it  must 
bear  it  with  what  fortitude  he  can. 

(3)  Finally,  though  not  impossible  of  performance,  the 
services  agreed  to  may  become  extremely  onerous  on  the 
promisor,  either  in  themselves,  or  because  of  the  conduct 
of  the  promisee.  Is  the  promisor  then  called  upon  specifi- 
cally to  perform  what  he  undertook  ?  The  answer  is,  that 
he  is  called  upon  in  morality  and  equity  to  pay  damages  in 
full  compensation  for  the  failure  to  perform,  but  that  he 
is  not  called  upon  to  render  specific  performance,  if  the 
agreement  is  so  unfair  and  unequitable  to  him  as  to  be 
onerous  and  oppressive,  or  if  there  has  been  unscrupulous 
or  unfair  conduct  on  the  part  of  the  other  party  who  asks 
performance  (since  "he  who  seeks  equity  must  do  equity"). 
The  general  principles  involved  seem  to  be,  that  in  spite  of 
their  foresight,  men  in  making  agreements  are  in  large 
measure  groping  in  the  dark,  and  that  while  a  promise  is 
something  of  value  to  the  promisee,  and  is  therefore 
something  for  which  he  may  rightly  recover  full  value  in 
case  it  is  not  redeemed,  yet  he  has  no  right,  after  the 
example  of  Shylock,  to  use  the  promise  as  a  means  of 
onerously  oppressing  the  promisor,  nor  to  adopt  a  low 
standard  in  his  dealings  with  the  promisor,  and  at  the 


JTSTICE  857 

same  time  demand  that  the  latter  shall  live  up  to  the 
higher  standard  of  scrupulous  performance. 

In  short,  passing  over  tlie  difficult  case  of  immoral  ob- 
ject, genuine  agreements  impose  the  obligation  of  specific 
performance  of  the  service  promised,  if  they  are  not  posi- 
tively onerous  and  oppressive,  and  if  the  other  party  has 
been  fair  and  equitable  in  his  dealings  in  the  matter,  and 
even  when  one  or  the  other  of  these  conditions  does  not 
appear,  there  is  still  the  duty  to  make  full  compensation, 
i.e.  to  pay  damages  that  will  put  the  other  party  in  as  good 
a  position,  so  far  as  possible,  as  he  would  have  been  in,  if 
the  agreement  had  not  been  made  and  broken.  What  was 
said  of  money  damages  and  reparation  in  general  in  the 
case  of  private  wrongs  applies  equally  in  regard  to  repara- 
tion for  unfulfilled  engagements. 

Duties  arising  from  Promises. — We  have  been  consider- 
ing the  obligations  that  arise  when  one  man  agrees  to 
perform  some  service  in  return  for  some  service  received  or 
to  be  received.  The  obligations  that  arise  from  one-sided 
promises  are  now  to  be  considered. 

As  a  rule  Anglo-American  courts  only  enforce  promises 
made  for  ^*  valuable  consideration,"  at  least  most  of  the 
promises  they  enforce  are  of  this  description.  But  civil 
law  courts  enforce  unilateral,  or  rather  gratuitous,  prom- 
ises, and  even  common  law  courts  enforce  some  promises 
made  in  prescribed  form  and  with  special  solemnity.  The 
solemnity  seems  to  be  required,  as  Professor  Sidgwiek 
says,  "  (1)  as  a  protection  of  the  inconsiderate,  and  (2) 
as  evidence  of  the  fact  that  the  promise  was  really  made  — 
as  'preappointed'  evidence."*  And  both  grounds  seem 
well  taken.  For  it  does  not  seem  just  to  take  advantage 
of  every  rash  statement  of  inconsiderate  intention,  nor  is 
it  easy  to  distinguish  lightly  spoken  statements  of  good 
intention  from  deliberately  intended  promises,  except  by 
the  greater  solemnity  or  at  least  seriousness  of  the  latter. 

Oi>.  cu.  p.  00. 


858  ETHICS 

But  when  a  promise  is  made  by  a  capable  person  and 
accepted  and  counted  on  by  the  promisee,  there  is  certainly 
obligation  to  fulfil  it,  in  the  absence  of  onerousness  and 
inequitableness,  as  before  described.  And  if  either  of 
these  conditions  is  not  fulfilled,  there  is  the  duty  to  make 
reparation,  at  least  sufficient  to  compensate  for  the  out- 
lays (using  that  word  broadly)  of  various  kinds  made  by 
the  promisee  in  the  expectation  of  the  fulfilment  of  the 
promise. 

§  7.    Duties  arising  from  Personal  and  Other  Relations 

Passing  now  to  the  duties  that  arise  out  of  personal  and 
other  relations,  it  must  be  said  at  the  outset  that,  in  the 
present  state  of  the  science  of  jurisprudence,  only  prin- 
ciples of  the  utmost  generality  can  be  discovered.  The 
law  in  respect  to  such  duties  is  in  much  the  same  state  as 
prevailed  in  the  law  of  torts  before  the  middle  of  the  pres- 
ent century.  The  authorities  on  jurisprudence  have  not 
worked  up  the  subject  —  which  deals  with  what  may  be 
called  torts  of  omission  —  as  a  distinct  subdivision  of  the 
law,  and  the  only  sources  available,  scattered  decisions  and 
statements  appearing  in  many  text-books  on  various  sub- 
jects, cannot  be  dealt  with  safely  except  by  experts  in 
the  law.  All  that  will  be  attempted  will  be  to  give  some 
idea  of  the  relations  on  which  the  obligations  are  based, 
and  of  the  most  general  principles  that  govern  in  deter- 
mining the  duties  that  arise  from  these  relations. 

First,  then,  there  are  certain  relations  into  which  men 
are  born,  and  as  long  as  these  relations  exist  they  give  rise 
to  special  mutual  obligations,  not  necessarily  or  usually  the 
same  for  the  two  parties  concerned.  Typical  here  are  the 
relations  of  parent  and  child,  brother  and  brother,  and 
the  other  blood  relationships.  In  law  and  in  morality 
special  obligations  spring  from  them.  Very  similar  to 
them  are  the  ties  between  a  citizen  and  his  country,  a  man 
and  his  community  or  section,  and  similar  civic  relation- 


JUSTICE  8o9 

ships,  though  under  modem  conditions  residence  and  even 
allegiance  can  be  so  readily  changed  that  these  duties  are 
not  so  full  and  stringent  as  they  once  were. 

But  secondly,  at  the  present  time,  under  the  regime  of 
contract  instead  of  status,  most  relations  that  give  rise 
to  special  obligations  are  founded  on  contract  and  agree- 
ment, though  the  obligations  in  question  are  largely  inde- 
pendent of  the  terms  of  the  agreements.  Most  typical  here 
is  marriage.  Marriage  is  voluntarily  entered  into,  presum- 
ably by  persons  having  capacity  to  contract,  but  the  terms 
of  the  contract  cannot  in  any  way  impair  the  obligations 
that  the  law  and  morality  impose  upon  married  pairs.  It  is 
optional  to  enter  the  marriage  relation  or  not,  but  once  the 
relation  has  been  entered  into,  there  are  some  obligations 
that  must  in  law,  and  many  more  that  must  in  morality,  be 
fulfilled.  And  similar  is  the  basis,  speaking  generally,  of 
the  obligations  resting  upon  guardians  and  wards,  masters 
and  servants,  brokers,  factors,  and  other  agents  and  their 
principals,  trustees  and  the  beneficiaries  of  trusts,  executors 
and  administrators  and  the  creditors  and  heirs  of  the 
estate  administered  upon,  etc.*  An  agreement  is  the  basis 
of  these  relationships  in  each  case,  but  the  resultant  obli- 
gations are  largely  independent  of  the  terms  of  the  agree- 
ments. Here  it  is  that  the  relationship  of  each  man  to  his 
property  belongs,  a  relationship  upon  which  rest  some  of 
the  most  important  rights  and  duties  known  in  civilized 
societies.  These  rights  and  duties  are  commonly  based  on 
contracts,  but  they  often  go  far  beyond  the  terms  of  the 
contracts  on  which  they  rest. 

The  relationships  thus  briefly  indicated  will  suggest  the 
many  others  that  are  recognized  and  regulated  by  law,  and 
that  give  rise  each  to  its  special  body  of  rights  and  duties. 
Now,  while  it  is  undoubtedly  true  that  the  law  does  not 

*  In  some  of  these  rases  the  relation  does  not  re«t  upon  oontnieta 
between  the  parties,  but  on  contracts  between  one  of  them  in  each  caaa 
-and  third  parties,  but  the  principle  is  the  same. 


360  ETHICS 

recognize  rights  and  duties  as  arising  from  all  relation- 
ships, it  is  important  to  note  that  it  could  not  be  expected 
to  do  so,  and  that  it  recognizes  all  the  relationships  with 
which  it  is  wise  for  the  courts  to  attempt  to  deal,  and 
all  the  rights  and  duties  they  can  wisely  undertake  to 
enforce.  And  considering  the  sensitiveness  of  the  law 
to  relationships  as  legitimate  bases  on  which  to  found 
rights  and  duties,  two  principles  may  be  laid  down  in  this 
difficult  field :  firat,  every  relationship  in  which  a  man  is 
involved  is  the  ground  for  special  obligations  to  the  other 
party  thereto  ;  and  secondly,  different  relationships  give 
rise  to  different  obligations.  These  principles  are  very 
abstract,  but  they  are  no  small  or  unsubstantial  part  of 
what  moralists  since  Hegel's  day,  and  of  his  school,  have 
been  contending  for,  as  against  the  much  abstracter  formu- 
lation of  Kant  and  his  followers,  and  upholders  of  the 
intuitional  school  generally,  and  to  those  who  sympathize 
with  modern  scientific  methods,  Hegel's  principles  re- 
ceive a  much  firmer  foundation  when  they  are  discovered 
to  rest  upon  the  law  as  it  has  been  developed  by  the  slow 
inductive  methods  of  the  courts.  ^  Further,  though  the 
principles  themselves  are  abstract,  they  describe  duty  as 
something  utterly  concrete.  For  they  teach  that  a  man's 
duty  can  be  determined  only  after  his  relations  down  to 
the  concretest  detail  have  been  determined. 

Nevertheless  it  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  jurispru- 
dence is  so  backward  in  this  field.  Were  the  laws  of 
torts  of  omission  fully  worked  out,  it  would  be  possible 
to  say,  not  only  that  each  relationship  imposes  special 
obligations,  but  what  obligations  each  relationship,  or  at 
least  what  obligation  each  main  head  of  relationships, 
imposes,  and  that  would  indeed  be  a  gain. 

1  Cf.  Dewey,  Outlines  of  Ethics,  XXXIII. 


JUSTICE  861 

§  8.     Justice  to  the  Unjust 

The  problem  of  this  section  has  been  incidentally 
touched  upon  at  several  points  before,  notably  in  the 
last  chapter,  and  in  dealing  with  proper  reparation  for 
private  wrongs  of  commission  and  omission  in  this  chapter. 
As  regards  the  just  treatment  of  those  guilty  of  private 
wrongs,  there  is  comparatively  little  difficulty,  though  no 
doubt  even  here  there  is  too  often  failure  of  justice.  The 
general  principles  are,  that  there  should  be  an  impartial 
inquiry  in  each  case,  when  each  side  is  given  an  oppor- 
tunity to  state  its  position,  and  that,  if  wrong  has  been 
done  and  suffered,  there  should  be  reparation,  as  before 
described. 

But  in  the  matter  of  public  wrongs  there  is  much 
greater  difficulty  in  regard  to  the  proper  treatment,  both 
of  those  accused  of  wrong-doing,  and  of  those  convicted  of 
wrong-doing.  As  to  the  latter,  alike  in  the  legal  sen- 
tences passed  by  the  courts,  and  in  the  carrying  out  of 
the  various  sentences  by  prison  officials  and  others,  there 
is  a  confusing  diversity  in  civilized  lands.  And  when  the 
form  of  trial  to  which  suspects  are  subjected  is  considered, 
the  procedures  under  common  and  civil  law  respectively 
are  very  far  apart,  the  practices  characteristic  of  the  two 
systems  exhibiting  greater  differences  than  are  observable 
in  any  other  department  of  the  law.  * 

The  Two  Systems  of  Criminal  Procedure.  —  Taking  up 
the  question  of  criminal  procedure  first,  the  following 
description  by  Sir  J.  F.  Stephen  will  give  a  good  intro- 
ductory idea  of  the  differences  between  the  common  and 
the  civil  law:  "In  practice  it  will  be  found  that  most 
systems  of  criminal  procedure  proceed  mainly  upon  one 
or  the  other  of  two  views  of  the  question.     They  regard 

» Unless  it  be  in  the  existence  of  a  droit  administratif  In  ciril  I»w  and 
its  non-existence  in  common  law  countries.  Bui  thi«  is  a  difference  Terj 
similar  to  that  to  be  described  in  the  text. 


362  ETHICS 

a  criminal  trial  either  as  a  public  inquiry,  in  which  the 
object  is  to  ascertain  the  truth  for  the  sake  of  the  public 
interest,  or  they  regard  it  as  a  private  dispute,  in  which 
the  object  of  the  accuser  is  to  obtain,  and  the  object  of 
the  person  accused  is  to  avoid,  the  infliction  of  legal 
punishment  for  the  alleged  crime.  Probably  no  system 
of  procedure  is  founded  exclusively  upon  either  of  these 
principles  .  .  . ;  but  the  one  or  the  other  view  of  the  case 
must  predominate  in  every  system,  and  it  may  be  conven- 
ient to  distinguish  them,  for  the  sake  of  clearness,  as  the 
litigious  and  the  inquisitorial  principles.  The  English 
system  of  criminal  procedure  is  almost  exclusively  liti- 
gious ;  the  French  almost  exclusively  inquisitorial."  ^ 

It  is  not  easy  in  a  few  words  to  give  a  satisfactory  idea 
of  the  difference  between  the  two  systems,  but  a  very 
brief  description  may  serve  to  suggest  their  difference  in 
point  of  view,  which  is  what  we  are  mainly  interested  in 
here.  Differences  appear  both  in  the  preparation  of  the 
case  for  trial,  in  what  the  French  call  the  instruction,  and 
in  the  trial  itself. 

Under  the  litigious  system,  when  any  one  is  accused  of 
crime,  a  preliminary  inquiry  is  held  in  order  to  determine 
whether  he  shall  be  committed  for  trial.  In  this  prelimi- 
nary inquiry,  the  prosecution,  which  is  entirely  indepen- 
dent of  the  justice  holding  the  inquiry,  gathers  evidence 
and  summons  and  examine  witnesses,  while  the  accused 
has  the  same  right,  and  even  greater  facilities  in  the  way 
of  securing  the  attendance  of  witnesses.  During  the 
inquiry  the  accused  is  imprisoned,  or  required  to  give 
bail  for  appearance,  but  only  in  the  interest  of  his  safe 
custody,  for  his  detention  in  no  way  interferes  with  his 
preparation  of  his  defence,  nor  may  it  be  taken  advantage 
of  by  the  prosecution  for  interrogating  or  securing  damag- 

^A  General  View  of  the  Criminal  Law  of  England.  The  quotations  that 
follow  on  this  subject  are  all  taken  from  the  same  book  between  pp.  154 
and  168. 


JUSTICE  863 

ing  admissions  from  the  accused.  The  latter  is  not  obliged 
to  speak  at  all,  though  he  has  an  opportunity  to  do  so, 
after  the  warning  that  what  he  says  may  be  used  against 
him  at  the  trial. 

Under  the  inquisitorial  system,  the  instruction  is  much 
less  favourable  to  the  accused.  The  prosecuting  officers 
"  receive  and  collect  evidence  of  every  kind  in  reference 
to  any  crime  which  has  been  committed,  and  constantly 
interrogate  the  accused  upon  every  point  of  the  charge, 
and  confront  him,  from  time  to  time,  with  the  witnesses. 
They  have  it  in  their  power  to  place  the  accused  in  soli- 
tary confinement  .  .  .  — and  constantly  exercise  it  — 
the  object  being  to  prevent  him  from  communicating 
with  his  friends,  and  from  forming  any  systematic  de- 
fence. They  keep  him  in  ignorance  of  the  depositions 
which  may  have  been  made  for  or  against  him,  and  then 
question  him  on  the  facts  to  which  they  refer.  By  com- 
paring together  these  various  sources  of  information,  they 
g^dually  elaborate  a  theory  on  the  subject,  which  .  .  . 
is  supported  not  only  by  arguments  of  a  most  refined 
character,  but  also  by  considerations  drawn  from  the  man- 
ner in  which  the  witnesses  give  their  evidence,  the  degree 
of  frankness  shown  by  the  accused  in  his  answers,  and 
many  other  circumstances.  This  is  called  *  instructing 
the  process.' "  Moreover,  there  is  an  intimate  official  con- 
nection between  the  officers  who  instruct  the  process,  and 
the  court  which  finally  hears  the  case. 

And  the  trial  itself  is  different  under  the  two  systems. 
Under  the  litigious  system,  the  trial  is  conducted  on  much 
the  same  lines  as  the  preliminary  inquiry.  It  is  not  merely 
"the  last  stage  in  an  elaborate  process,  every  part  of  which 
relates  to,  and  is  recognized  in,  every  other  part,"  but  at 
the  trial  "  the  preliminary  proceedings  go  for  nothing,  and 
every  fact  must  be  proved  by  original  evidence."  More- 
over, the  attorney  for  the  state  "  ought  to  act  as  an  advo- 
cate  indeed,   but  as  an  advocate  who  has  many  of   the 


364  ETHICS 

duties  and  responsibilities  of  a  judge,  and  who  contends 
not  for  the  success  of  his  cause  at  all  events,  but  for  the 
full  recognition  by  the  judge  and  jury  of  that  side  of  the 
truth  which  makes  in  favour  of  it.  It  is  his  duty  to  see 
that  the  case  against  the  prisoner  is  brought  out  in  all  its 
strength  ;  but  it  is  not  his  duty  to  conceal  or  in  any  way 
diminish  the  importance  of  its  weak  points.  His  function 
is  not  to  inquire  into  the  truth,  but  to  put  forward,  with 
all  possible  candour  and  temperance,  that  part  of  it  which 
is  unfavourable  to  the  prisoner.  "After  the  examination 
of  the  witnesses  for  the  prosecution  comes  the  defence  of 
the  prisoner,  either  in  person  or  by  his  counsel,"  who  acts 
throughout  the  part  of  an  advocate  simply,  securing  for 
his  client  every  advantage  that  the  facts  or  the  law  afford 
him.  "In  practice  it  is  universally  admitted  that  the 
prosecutor  is  morally  and  professionally  bound  always  to 
keep  in  sight  the  ultimate  object  —  namely  the  discovery 
of  truth;  whereas  no  such  obligation  is  laid  upon  the 
prisoner  and  those  who  represent  him."  When  "the 
evidence  is  concluded,  the  judge  sums  up:  his  position 
from  first  to  last  is  that  of  a  moderator  between  two  liti- 
gants. His  summing  up  may,  and  generally  does,  indicate 
his  opinion ;  but  it  is  an  opinion  which  is  the  result  of 
the  evidence  laid  before  him,  and  not  of  an  independent 
inquiry." 

To  this  procedure  the  inquisitorial  trial  offers  a  striking 
contrast.  After  the  trial  opens,  "  the  prisoner  is  interro- 
gated in  private  by  the  president "  of  the  court,  who  is  a 
close  official  associate  of  the  officers  who  have  conducted 
the  instruction^  and  worked  out  the  theory  of  the  guilt  of 
the  accused  which  is  the  immediate  cause  of  the  trial  in 
progress.  *'  The  Procureur-gdn^ral  (the  representative 
of  the  state)  then  generally  opens  the  case  against  the 
prisoner,  speaking  with  far  more  warmth,  and  expressing 
a  much  more  decided  opinion  than  would  be  thought  be- 
coming in  this  country.     The  president  then  interrogates 


JUSTICE  865 

the  accused,  after  shortly  stating  the  facts  to  him,  and 
the  witnesses  are  then  heard,  the  Procureur-g^n^ral  de- 
ciding on  the  order  in  which  they  are  to  be  called.  .  .  . 
After  the  depositions  are  complete,  the  president  cross- 
examines;  and  after  his  cross-examination  is  over,  the 
counsel  for  the  prisoner  may  put  any  further  questions  if 
he  pleases ;  but  he  can  do  so  only  through  the  president. 
This  privilege  is  hardly  ever  exercised."  Then  come  the 
arguments  to  the  jury,  if  there  is  one,  and  the  summing 
up  of  the  president,  which  is  just  a  summing  up.  "  The 
issue  of  the  trial  is  virtually  almost  decided  before  it 
begins,  because  it  is  only  the  last  act  of  a  continuous  pro- 
cess," in  which  a  body  of  officials  seek  for  a  theory  to 
account  for  a  crime,  and  then  "  are  bound  by  all  the  ties 
of  official  etiprit  de  corps  and  personal  vanity  to  maintain 
the  accuracy  of  the  conclusion  at  which  they  have 
arrived."  ^ 

The  Grreater  Justice  of  the  Litigious  System.  —  The  general 
plan  of  the  chapter  is  to  set  down  as  principles  of  justice 
only  such  rules  as  are  embodied  in  both  the  common  and 
the  civil  law.  But  where  so  marked  a  difference  appears 
on  a  point  of  such  fundamental  importance,  it  becomes 
necessary  to  decide  between  the  two  systems  of  law,  on  the 
basis  of  the  principles  of  morality  the  present  investigation 
has  disclosed. 

The  litigious  system  proceeds  upon  the  principle  that 
the  state  or  society  has  interests  (including  to  be  sure 
interest  in  being  fair  to  those  accused  of  crime  )  and  that 
the  accused  has  interests,  and  that  both  should  have  the 
opportunity  to  assert  and  support  their  resi)ective  interests 
before  a  tribunal,  which  should  be  entirely  impartial.     The 

1  JuRtice  Stephen's  account  was  written  in  1863,  and  some  changes 
have  taken  place  in  the  meantime.  Moreover,  it  was  written  by  an 
English  judge,  more  familiar  with,  and,  possibly,  more  appreciative  ol^ 
the  litigious  system.  But  the  account  is  substantially  just  to~day,  and 
(here  is  no  other  so  reliable  and  useful  for  our  puiposes. 


366  ETHICS 

theory  of  the  inquisitorial  system  seems  to  be,  either  that 
the  interests  of  those  accused  of  crime  are  fundamentally 
identical  with  those  of  the  state,  or  else  that  officers  of  the 
government  can  do  impartial  justice  alike  to  the  interests 
of  the  accused,  and  to  the  interests  of  the  state. 

In  judging  the  justice  of  the  inquisitorial  system,  the 
crucial  question  is,  whether  or  not  the  interests  of  the 
accused  and  the  interests  of  the  state  are  fundamentally 
identical.  If  they  are  not,  the  system  is  unquestionably 
unwise  in  assuming  that  officers  of  the  government  can- 
not only  judge  impartially  between  the  accused  and  the 
state,  but  can  advocate  and  defend  both  interests  with 
equal  zeal.  For  when  two  sets  of  interests  are  in  strong 
conflict,  it  is  contrary  to  human  nature  to  support  the 
two  with  equal  aggressiveness  and  zeal ;  partisanship  is  too 
strong  a  factor  in  man  once  he  plunges  into  action. 

And  when  we  turn  to  the  prior  question,  and  ask  for 
the  relation  between  the  interests  of  the  accused  and  the 
interests  of  the  state,  the  entire  account  of  morality  given 
in  these  pages  makes  it  clear,  that,  provided  the  accused 
is  a  criminal,  as  ninety-nine  out  of  one  hundred  are,  there 
is  a  fundamental  and  tragic  conflict  between  his  interests 
and  those  of  society.  For  by  definition  public  wrong-doers 
and  criminals  are  men  who  injure  society  and  its  welfare  — 
men  whose  natures  are  such  that  their  normal  bent  makes 
for  injury  to  society;  were  it  otherwise,  the  declaration 
that  a  prime  necessity  is  the  protection  of  society  from 
criminals  would  be  senseless.  On  the  one  hand,  there  are 
men  so  constituted  that  the  means  they  naturally  and 
normally  employ  to  serve  their  interests  bring  injury  to 
society ;  on  the  other  hand,  there  is  society,  whose  welfare 
demands  that  socially  injurious  actions  should  be  repressed, 
and  those  who  perpetrate  them  so  restrained  as  to  mini- 
mize the  danger  of  their  repetition. 

Now,  of  course,  society  and  its  officers  are  right  in  re- 
pressing crime  and  restraining  criminals,  for  morality  is  con- 


JUSTICE  867 

duct  that  maximizes  social  welfare,  and  less  harm  is  done 
by  repressing  criminals  than  by  allowing  them  to  oppress 
their  fellows.  And  of  course  the  criminal  is  wrong,  for 
his  injury  to  society,  even  when  diminished  by  the  benefite 
his  criminal  course  brings  him,  is  much  greater  than  the 
injury  repression  brings  him,  after  the  good  done  society 
by  his  repression  is  deducted.  But  the  fact  that  it  is 
right  to  repress  or  "  punish  "  the  criminal,  that  it  is  right 
to  choose  lesser  injury  to  him  and  greater  good  to  society 
rather  than  greater  injury  to  society  and  lesser  good  to  the 
criminal  —  tlie  fact  that  it  is  right  to  repress  and  injure  the 
criminal,  in  no  wise  does  away  with  the  fact  that  the  crim- 
inal is  repressed  and  injured.  In  short,  the  "  punishment  '* 
of  criminals  is  injury  to  them  in  order  that  greater  injury 
should  not  be  done  society,  and  it  is  right  for  that  reason ;  ^ 
and  a  criminal  trial  is  in  fact,  and  should  be  in  form,  a 
judicially  conducted  conflict  between  the  criminal,  whose 
interest  consists  in  escaping  injury  so  far  as  possible,  and 
society,  whose  interest  consists  in  securing  itself  against 
injury  from  the  criminal,  even  at  the  cost  of  injuring  him.* 
Now  the  litigious  system  is  based  upon  the  theory  of  a 
conflict,  in  which  both  sides  should  be  given  an  opportunity 
to  make  the  most  of  their  cases,  and  for  that  reason  it  is  in 
accord  with  the  facts,  and  is  superior  to  the  inquisitorial 
system.  To  be  sure  the  judge  and  jury,  the  representatives 
of  society,  have  the  last  voice,  but  they  do  not  take  any 
part  in  attack  or  defence,  they  take  no  active  part  in  the 
contest,  confining  themselves  to  deciding  which  of  the 
two  contestants  has  made  good  his  cause.  Accordingly 
when  Sir  J.  F.  Stephen  says,  "  Upon  the  general  merits  of 
our  mode  of  procedure  it  must  be  observed  that  the  inquis- 
itorial theory  of  criminal  procedure  is  beyond  all  question 
the  true  one.      It  is  self-evident  that  a  trial  ought  to  be  a 

*  See  remarks  on  reformation  below. 

'The  problem  of  the  conflict  of  interests  between  some  of  the  Immoral 
and  society  will  be  discussed  more  fully  in  Cb.  XVI,  {  2. 


368  ETHICS 

public  inquiry  into  the  truth  of  a  matter  deeply  affecting 
the  public  interest "  ;  it  is  necessary  to  dissent  —  however 
reluctantly  and  hesitatingly  one  dissents  from  so  learned 
and  expert  an  authority  —  from  the  too  moderate  estimate 
of  the  justice  of  the  litigious  system.  "Were  the  public 
interest  alone  involved  the  position  would  be  well  taken. 
But  the  conflicting  interest  of  the  criminal  is  also  involved, 
and  consequently  a  trial  is  a  conflict,  and  not  merely  a 
dispassionate  academic  inquiry. 

Just  Treatment  of  Convicted  Criminals.  —  The  conclusion 
reached  as  to  the  tragic  conflict  of  interests  between  crim- 
inals and  society  may  now  be  used  to  throw  light  on  the 
nature  of  just  treatment  for  convicted  criminals. 

The  demand  for  social  vengeance,  for  the  infliction  of 
suffering  on  criminals  in  return  for  injuries  to  society,  is 
without  any  justification.  Because  there  is  a  greater  bal- 
ance of  good  and  a  lesser  balance  of  evil  in  that  course, 
violence  must  be  done  to  the  inclinations  and  natures  of 
criminals  by  restraining  and  coercing  them.  But  it  is 
unfortunate  that  the  necessity  exists,  and  regrettable  that 
it  is  impossible  to  protect  society  at  less  cost  to  criminals. 
Any  unnecessary  twinge  of  suffering  inflicted  on  them  is 
a  wanton  wrong. 

As  an  end  in  itself,  deterrence  is  unjustifiable.  The 
necessity  of  doing  violence  to  criminals  is  hard  enough  and 
it  is  intolerable  and  unjust  to  inflict  suffering  upon  them 
as  a  means  of  warning  others  off  from  crime  from  fear  of 
a  similar  fate.  As  Kant  says,  every  human  being  is  an 
end,  and  not  merely  a  means. 

Protection  of  society  from  criminals  is  justified,  because 
injury  to  the  latter  by  their  restraint  is  less  than  the 
injury  to  others  and  to  society  if  criminals  are  not  re- 
strained. And  of  course  it  is  right  that  the  protection 
should  be  as  effective  as  it  can  be  made  ;  but  it  is  also 
the  duty  of  society  to  make  restraint  as  little  injurious  to 
criminals  as  possible. 


JUSTICE 

Not  only  a  justifiable  but  a  very  high  aim  as  well,  is 
reformation,  the  attempt  to  transform  criminals  from  anti- 
social men  into  social  men.  With  all  the  mercy  it  is  pos- 
sible to  show  them,  criminals  under  restraint  for  social 
protection  do  not  enjoy  a  happy  lot,  and  any  treatment 
that  will  reform  them,  and  render  further  restraint  of  an 
extreme  kind  unnecessary,  is  for  that  reason  a  relief  to 
society  and  a  service  to  them,  and  is  both  for  the  addi- 
tional and  important  reason  that  it  makes  better  men  of 
criminals,  which  is  an  intrinsic  gain.  Even  if  a  consider- 
able amount  of  pain  is  an  incident  of  the  reformatory  pro- 
cess, the  service  rendered  compensates  for  it.  And  as,  in 
order  to  reform,  it  is  essential  that  wrong-doers  should 
recognize  the  wrongfulness  of  their  past  conduct,  and  the 
immorality  of  their  characters,  public  indignation  and  dis- 
approval, whatever  its  sting,  is  justified  (in  appropriate 
cases)  as  a  means  of  awakening  this  so  essential  moral  self- 
condemnation. 

The  highest  aim  is  at  once  to  reform  criminals  and  to 
reform  society.  For  not  a  few  men  are  criminals  largely  for 
the  reason  that  the  social  structure  has  not  been  cunningly 
enough  devised  to  provide  places  into  which  men  of  their 
capacities  can  fit.  Society  has  its  own  faults  and  commits 
its  stupidities  and  blunders,  —  among  them  the  blunder  of 
resting  satisfied  with  stupid  schemes  of  justice  and  of  mo- 
rality generally,  —  and  society  must  in  time  be  reformed  so 
that  better  use  will  be  made  of  and  better  opportunities 
be  given  to  men  of  all  sorts  and  conditions. 

And  now  it  may  be  pointed  out  that  if  the  purpose  of 
a  criminal  trial  is  to  reform  the  accused,  if  guilty,  there  is 
not  the  same  conflict  of  interests  between  him  and  society 
as  was  before  described.  But  communities  which  are 
effectively  concerned  for  the  reform  of  criminals  and  of 
society,  will  insist  on  the  scrupulous  fairness  to  the  former 
characteristic  of  the  litigious  system,  or  at  least  commu- 
nities without  that  insistence  on  fairness  are  not  likely  to 
be  concerned  in  those  reforms. 

2b 


870  ETHICS 

§  9.     Charity 

The  Justice  of  Charity.  —  But  not  only  do  society  and 
social  arrangements  come  into  positive  conflict  with  the 
interests  and  natures  of  individuals,  as  seen  in  the  last  sec- 
tion, they  also  so  largely  withdraw  from  some  individuals 
the  opportunities  for  self-help  that  these  individuals  are 
reduced  to  a  state  bordering  on  need,  and  they  put  other 
individuals,  not  so  hardly  used,  at  a  great  disadvantage  as 
compared  with  their  fellow-members  of  society.  Here 
again  it  should  be  recognized  that  it  is  right  to  give  the 
best  opportunities  and  greatest  rewards  to  those  who  are 
most  serviceable  to  society,  and  as  serviceableness  decreases, 
to  diminish  rewards  and  opportunities.  And  men  have 
not  yet  been  able  to  devise  a  social  system  in  which  the 
rewards,  in  property,  etc.,  secured  to  the  specially  efficient 
do  not  withdraw  opportunities  from  the  inefficient,  till  the 
point  is  reached  where  no  opportunities  remain,  and  dis- 
advantage takes  the  place  of  reward.  And  as  long  is  this  ia 
the  case  society  should  and  actually  does  negatively  injure 
many  men  by  warning  them  off  from  advantages  and 
refusing  them  opportunities. 

This  state  of  facts  imposes  a  double  duty.  If  it  i» 
unavoidable  and  necessary  for  social  welfare  that  society 
should  reward  the  most  efficient  by  giving  them  property 
in  so  many  of  the  good  things  of  life,  that  the  compara- 
tively inefficient  are  cut  off  from  nearly  all  opportunities 
and  rewards,  society  must  in  justice  compensate  the  latter 
in  the  way  of  charity  for  the  hardships  that  are  put  upon 
them  in  the  interests  of  social  welfare.  And  again  it  is 
only  just  that  the  efficietit  men,  to  whom  society  secures 
very  great  rewards  because  of  their  social  service,  should 
also  compensate  those  against  whom  their  monopoly  closes 
the  door  of  opportunity.  Public  charity  is  just,  and  charity 
at  the  hands  of  the  exceptionally  favoured,  who  hold  their 
wealth  in  trust  for  society,  is  just,  the  proper  beneficiaries 


JUSTICE  871 

"being  those  who  are  put  at  a  disadvantage  for  reasons  of 
social  expediency.  In  this  field  charity  is  a  corrective  of 
the  injustice  of  social  systems,  needed  even  in  case  of  the 
best  social  systems  so  far  devised. 

Charity  and  Individual  Welfare. — But  there  are  some 
individuals  who  do  not  fit  into  the  description  just  given, 
men  whose  failure  to  care  for  themselves  and  secure  well- 
being  is  not  due  to  social  withdrawal  of  opportunity,  but 
to  inherent  deficiency  and  inefficiency,  or  from  misfortune, 
e.g.  the  blind,  the  deaf,  the  insane,  some  of  the  sick-poor, 
and  the  victims  of  calamities  that  could  not  have  been 
guarded  against.  Is  assistance  to  these  classes  charity 
pure  and  simple  ?  Even  here  it  may  be  pointed  out  that 
no  man  can  tell  when  he  or  his  will  be  visited  with  ineffi- 
ciency or  misfortune,  and  that  the  consciousness  of  living 
in  a  benevolent  community,  and  of  security  from  desertion 
in  case  of  extreme  distress,  of  itself  compensates  for  many 
sacrifices. 

But,  waiving  that  point,  the  welfare  of  each  individual, 
so  far  as  it  can  be  secured,  is  the  increasingly  important  part 
of  the  supreme  end,  and  while  public  charity  and  charity 
by  the  exceptionally  well-to-do  furnish  the  chief  means  for 
serving  this  end  in  the  case  of  those  who  cannot  help 
themselves,  yet  every  man  who  is  able  is  morally  called 
upon  to  do  his  share  in  this  direction  as  in  all  others. 

The  duty  of  charity,  therefore,  is  partly  based  on  the 
justice  of  repairing  negative  social  injustice,  and  is  partly 
the  original  and  basal  duty  of  serving  individual  welfare. 

The  subject  would  repay  a  much  longer  discussion,  but 
of  this  space  does  not  admit. 

Summary  of  Chapter.  —  The  chapter  opened  by  an  investi- 
gation which  reached  the  conclusion  that  legal  justice  is 
the  best  basis  on  which  to  found  an  accurate,  adequate,  and 
authoritative  conception  of  justice.  Proceeding  upon  this 
basis,  it  appeared  that  justice  consists  in  refraining  from 
private  and  public  wrongs,  which  were  in  part  described, 


372  ETHICS 

in  fulfilling  the  obligations  of  agreements  and  promises 
and  of  all  the  relations  in  which  men  find  themselves,  and 
in  acting  fairly  both  towards  those  who  injure  society  and 
whom  society  is  compelled  positively  to  injure,  and  towards 
those  whom  society  is  compelled  negatively  to  injure. 
And  while  not  a  matter  of  justice,  morality  demands,  as 
an  incident  of  the  service  of  individual  welfare,  that  aid 
•should  be  gfiven  the  inefficient  and  unfortunate. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

Wisdom 
§  1.     Introduction 

In  Chapters  X  and  XI  an  attempt  was  made  to  describe 
the  virtuous  man  in  terms  of  will,  only  to  find  that  with- 
out specification  of  emotional  and  intellectual  character- 
istics virtue  is  not  adequately  described.  In  Chapter  XII 
41  similar  inadequacy  appeared  as  a  result  of  the  attempt 
to  describe  the  virtuous  man  in  terms  of  feeling  or  incli- 
nation. And  while  in  Chapter  XIII  quite  a  little  was 
discovered  as  to  the  nature  of  virtue  or  objective  morality, 
yet  it  proved  to  be  impossible  to  specify  rules  of  conduct 
that  would  exhaustively  describe  objective  morality.  For 
the  rules  must  be  devised,  applied  to  concrete  cases,  and 
kept  in  harmony  with  changing  conditions.  In  short,  in 
addition  to  qualities  of  will  and  feeling,  and  to  familiarity 
with  a  code  of  objective  rules,  the  virtuous  man  must  also 
have  the  insight  that  makes  good  judgment  possible,  or  in 
other  words  he  must  be  wise. 

And,  coming  now  to  the  exposition  of  the  nature  of  wis- 
dom, it  is  evident  that  a  description  of  wise  conduct  will 
be  impossible,  and  that  a  history  of  wisdom  in  the  matter 
of  conduct  will  be  unnecessary.  For  any  description  of 
wise  conduct  would  specify  general  rules  and  types  of  con- 
duct, and  all  that  is  here  possible  in  that  direction  was 
Accomplished  in  the  last  chapter;  describe  wise  conduct, 
and  it  turns  into  just  conduct,  conduct  there  are  sufficient 
reasons  for  approving,  and  no  sufficient  reasons  for  disap- 
proving.    And  the  same  considerations  make  it  clear  that 

373 


374  ETHICS 

a  history  of  wise  conduct  would  in  the  writing  turn  inta 
a  history  of  just  conduct. 

It  would  no  doubt  be  possible  to  give  a  history  of  the 
wise  man,  i.e.  of  the  varying  characteristics  of  the  man  of 
good  judgment  at  the  successive  stages  of  human  develop- 
ment. But,  after  all,  good  judgment  is  good  judgment, 
and  insight  is  insight,  whereyer  you  find  them.  And, 
while  one  man  may  be  wise  in  one  direction  and  under 
some  circumstances,  and  another  wise  in  another  direction 
and  under  other  circumstances,  and  while  a  detailed  de- 
scription of  wisdom  would  point  out  the  differences,  yet 
the  account  of  the  wise  man  here  given  cannot  be  sufifi- 
ciently  detailed  for  that  purpose,  and,  besides,  historical 
sequence  is  not  of  prime  importance  in  this  field.  What 
can  be  said  of  wisdom  in  specific  directions  will  appear  in 
the  discussion  of  experts,  §  3. 

The  plan  accordingly  will  be  to  describe  in  very  general 
terms  the  characteristics  of  the  wise  man,  the  tiaits  of 
mind  and  character  that  give  to  some  men  a  certain  inevit- 
able rightness  of  judgment  and  action  that  is  denied  to 
their  fellows.  The  description  does  not  pretend  to  be  and 
in  any  event  could  not  be  full.  It  is  not  an  infallible  guide 
by  means  of  which  the  wise  man  can  be  identified.  But 
it  may  give  some  useful  hints  to  those  who  wish  to  dis- 
cover and  observe  wise  men  with  a  view  to  learning  wis- 
dom from  them,  so  far  as  that  is  possible.  And,  it  must 
be  repeated,  however  imperfect  a  method,  the  observation 
of  wise  men,  and  practice  in  being  like  them,  are  the  only 
methods  of  learning  the  nature  of  wisdom,  for  wisdom  or 
insight  cannot  be  described. 

§  2.    The  Wise  Man 

Wisdom  finds  expression  in  judgment,  both  the  form  of 
judgment  that  is  voiced  in  words,  and  the  form  that,  with- 
out words,  often  without  so  much  as  distinct  mental  con- 
clusions, infallibly  issues   in  precisely  the   right  action. 


WISDOM  875 

But  folly  also  finds  expression  in  judgment,  not  in  good 
judgment,  but  in  bad  judgment.  And  accordingly  the 
problem  is  to  distinguish  good  judgment  from  bad  judg- 
ment. 

Evidently,  speaking  in  general  terms,  in  order  to  good 
judgment,  three  conditions  must  be  fulfilled.  Before  ho 
judges,  the  man  who  is  to  judge  wisely  must  have  a  befit- 
ting equipment,  else  success  is  compromised  at  the  start. 
The  act  of  judgment  itself  must  be  good.  And  this  act 
must  be  effective,  it  must  lead  to  the  wise  action  which 
is  the  raison  d'Stre  of  the  whole  process.  There  are  certain 
requisites  before,  during,  and  after  the  act  of  judging. 
These  requisites,  it  will  be  found,  fall  naturally  into 
mutually  limiting  pairs  in  each  case.  For  the  wise  man 
has  a  comprehensive  mind  and  yet  is  sagacious,  he  is  cau- 
tious in  reaching  conclusions  and  yet  decided,  and  he  is 
firm  and  yet  reasonable. 

Comprehensiveness  and  Sagacity.  —  A  man  fails  of  wis- 
dom if  he  is  ignorant  of  any  facts  pertinent  to  the  situa- 
tions in  which  he  is  called  upon  to  act,  or  if,  knowing  any 
pertinent  fact,  he  has  insuflicient  command  over  his  knowl- 
edge to  bring  the  fact  up  at  the  right  time.  A  wise 
man  has  breadth  of  knowledge,  i.e.  he  knows  all  the  facts 
necessary ;  he  is  acute  or  keen,  i.e.  he  knows  each  fact 
with  sufficient  precision ;  and  he  is  resourceful,  i.e.  he 
has  command  over  his  knowledge  and  is  fertile  in  ideas. 

In  modern  days,  with  the  vast  accumulation  of  knowl- 
edge, comprehensiveness  means  learning  and  a  trained 
mind.  It  means  that  a  man  has  some  facts  subject  to 
instant  recall,  and  a  training  that  enables  him  to  think  Itis 
way  to  other  facts  when  necessary,  and  to  find,  in  books 
and  elsewhere,  the  large  mass  of  facts  that  cannot  possibly 
be  kept  in  mind.  Among  the  facts  that  the  wise  man 
would  know,  in  the  sense  of  the  word  just  indicated,  are 
those  that  constitute  justice. 

But  a  man  falls  as  far  short  of  wisdom  if  he  fails  of 


376  ETHICS 

sagacity.  He  may  be  a  very  encyclopaedia  of  learning,  and 
yet  be  quite  foolish  in  his  views  and  actions,  if  he  is  not 
sagacious.  For  sagacity  or  mother-wit  is  the  faculty  of 
holding  to  the  pertinent  considerations  and  unburdening 
one's  self  of  the  considerations  that  are  not  pertinent,  and 
without  that  faculty  good  judgment  is  impossible,  as  a 
man  then  neglects  the  essentials  and  allows  himself  to  be 
annoyed  and  influenced  by  the  unessentials.  So  important 
is  sagacity  that  it  is  popularly  thought  to  fall  little  short 
of  constituting  the  whole  of  good  judgment,  a  sagacious 
man  being  called  a  man  of  judgment. 

In  various  fields  sagacity  has  various  names.  In  matters 
of  theory  it  is  sometimes  called  acumen.  In  social  deal- 
ings it  is  called  tact.  In  the  handicrafts,  that  word  being 
used  in  the  widest  sense,  it  is  called  skill.  But  probably 
the  most  adequate  designation  for  it  is  genius. 

If  a  man  is  not  benevolent,  brave,  and  temperate,  inclina- 
tions will  tend  to  warp,  and  will  not  be  prevented  from 
warping  judgment.  Pertinent  considerations  will  be  over- 
looked, non-pertinent  considerations  will  be  held  to,  and 
possibly  from  both  directions  errors  will  arise. 

Caution  and  Decision.  —  It  will  not  be  necessary  to  dis- 
cuss this  pair  of  qualities  at  any  length.  A  cautious  man 
will  not  stop  deliberating  and  form  a  judgment  until  a 
sufficient  number  of  questions  have  been  satisfactorily 
answered,  while  a  decided  man  will  make  up  his  mind  as 
soon  as  further  consideration  would  in  no  way  improve 
the  judgment,  or  as  soon  as  further  delay  would  render 
action  impossible  or  comparatively  inefficient.  The  cau- 
tious man  is  concerned  for  abstract  wisdom  of  judgment, 
the  decided  man  for  prompt  and  "practically"  effective 
judgment.  And  of  course  the  practice  of  each  conduces 
to  wise  judgment  when  the  other  practice  is  united  to  it  in 
the  same  person,  while  either  by  itself  alone,  i.e.  either 
rashness  of  judgment  or  indecision,  stands  in  the  way  of 
good  judgment. 


WISDOM  877 

Caution,  it  will  be  observed,  is  more  closely  allied  to 
comprehensiveness  than  to  sagacity,  while  decision  is 
rather  allied  to  the  latter,  from  the  fact  that  it  is  a  matter 
of  sagacity  to  decide  at  the  right  time.  Again,  without 
the  four  virtues  previously  discussed  neither  caution  nor 
decision  is  possible. 

Firmness  and  Reasonableness.  —  Here  again  the  facts 
are  so  plain  that  little  need  be  said.  The  evident  purpose 
of  deliberation  and  judgment  is  to  reach  the  best  decision 
possible,  and  the  presumption  is  that  the  decision  reached 
is  wiser  than  any  opinion  suggested  by  impulse.  Accord- 
ingly it  is  at  least  plain  that  the  wise  man  would  be  suffi- 
ciently firm  or  resolute  to  adhere  to  his  decisions  in  spite  of 
any  inconsiderate  impulses  to  change  them.  And  again, 
it  is  at  once  plain  that  the  man  who  never  acts  deliberately 
cannot  be  wise,  and  that  no  deliberate  actions  are  possible 
for  the  man  whose  decisions  are  at  the  mercy  of  any  fresh 
facts  that  come  to  knowledge.  So  the  wise  man  will  not 
be  lightly  moved  to  deliberate  again  over  a  question  he 
has  definitely  decided.  On  the  contrary,  he  will  hold  ta 
decisions  resolutely  and  firmly. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  firmness  degenerates,  if  un- 
checked, into  stubbornness,  or,  to  use  a  homely  but  very 
expressive  term,  into  pigheadedness.  An  erroneous 
decision,  or,  for  that  matter,  a  decision  that  was  wise  at 
the  time  it  was  made  but  became  erroneous  because  of 
change  of  circumstances,  may  be  corrected  if  reconsidered 
with  more  light  on  the  facts.  In  short,  to  be  wise  a  man 
must  be  reasonable, — he  must  be  ready  for  good  reasons 
to  reconsider  his  decisions. 

Again,  all  the  four  virtues  described  are  necessary  both 
for  firmness  and  for  reasonableness.  Possibly  courage  is 
needed  rather  for  firmness  than  for  reasonableness,  and 
benevolence  and  justice  rather  for  reasonableness  than  for 
firmness ;  but  that  is  merely  a  matter  of  emphasis.  And 
in  its  respect  for  facts  as  such,  reasonableness  is  rather 


378  ETHICS 

allied  to  comprehensiveness  and  caution  than  to  sagacity 
and  decision,  while  the  opposite  is  true  of  firmness.  But 
these  statements  lay  no  claim  to  accuracy  and  precision. 
They  merely  mean  that  the  broad-minded  man  is  some- 
what likely  to  be  cautious  and  reasonable  as  well,  the 
reasonable  man  to  be  broad-minded  and  cautious  as  well, 
etc.,  while  the  sagacious  man  is  likely  to  be  decided  and 
firm,  though  it  does  not  follow,  and  is  not  true,  that  the 
decided  and  firm  man  is  likely  to  be  sagacious.  At  all 
events,  whatever  else  is  necessary,  to  be  wise  a  man  must 
possess  all  six  characteristics  in  due  proportion,  and  thus 
to  possess  them  he  must  be  endowed  with  the  four  virtues 
previously  discussed. 

§  3.     Abstract  Wisdom  and  Embodied  Wisdom 

But  the  day  of  the  man  who  is  wise  in  all  directions 
has  passed,  if  indeed  there  ever  has  been  such  a  day.  The 
field  of  knowledge  is  so  vast  that  no  one  man  can  know  all 
sciences,  or  so  much  as  the  whole  of  any  one  science,  Nor 
can  one  man  know  the  rules  of  all  arts,  or  even  of  one  art. 
And  while  one  man  may  have  the  skill  or  sagacity  and 
the  learning  necessary  for  wise  action  in  one  art,  or  possibly 
two,  a  broader  skill  than  that  is  scarcely  possible. 

But,  although  as  knowledge  and  skill  grow,  individual 
wisdom  seems  to  shrink,  the  fact  nevertheless  is  that  the 
wisdom,  individual  and  collective,  of  the  highest  races  is 
greater  than  that  possessed  by  any  of  their  predecessors. 
And  the  explanation  of  this  apparent  anomaly  is,  that  the 
stocks  of  stored-up  learning  and  skill  are  at  once  improved 
in  quality  and  increased  in  quantity,  and  are  more  accessible 
than  ever  before.  Accordingly  every  man  can  draw  on  the 
accumulations  of  knowledge  and  skill,  and  the  wise  man 
knows  how  to  draw  on  them,  and  thus  to  attain  to  a  result- 
ant wisdom  of  judgment  and  action  that  has  heretofore 
been  impossible. 


WISDOM  879 

The  Science*  and  Applied  Science*.  —  This  is  not  the 
place  to  give  a  classification  and  description  of  the  sciences, 
pure  and  applied.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  practically  the 
whole  universe  of  fact,  organic  and  inorganic,  mental  and 
physical,  that  comes  within  human  ken,  is  divided  off  into 
fields  that  are  turned  over  to  the  different  sciences  for 
investigation,  and  that  in  all  fields  in  which  human  activity 
exercises  itself  the  applied  sciences  are  seeking  and  formu- 
lating rules  of  skilful  procedure.  And  on  these  great 
storehouses  of  theoretical  and  practical  knowledge  the 
wise  man  draws ;  and  in  part  by  that  means  broad-minded 
and  sagacious  action  becomes  possible  for  him. 

But  the  attitude  of  the  wise  man  to  pure  and  applied 
science  is  always  complex,  for  it  is  at  once  reverent  and 
critical.  On  the  one  hand,  the  conclusions  of  science  are 
the  most  highly  authenticated  conclusions  that  men  have 
reached.  Science  deliberately  sets  to  work  to  attain  trust- 
worthy conclusions ;  that  is  the  one  aim,  and  no  pains  are 
spared  to  compass  it.  Nor  is  the  goal  an  object  of  isolated 
endeavour,  each  scientist  working  independently  of  every 
other.  On  the  contrary,  cooperation,  chiefly  by  means  of 
systematic  publicity,  attains  a  high  efficiency  in  science. 
And  while  lucky  guesses  may  reach  better  conclusions  than 
science,  the  chances  are  very  much  against  such  a  result. 
The  wise  man  therefore  respects  science,  and  his  presump- 
tion is  that  the  settled  conclusions  of  well-established 
sciences  are  trustworthy. 

But  the  wise  man  judges  sciences  by  their  practical  suc- 
cesses. He  knows  that  each  science  has  changed  its  mind, 
so  to  speak,  many  times  in  the  past,  and  that  scientific  con- 
clusions that  were  unanimously  declared  to  be  fully  estab- 
lished have  repeatedly  been  as  unanimously  abandoned. 
Moreover,  the  wise  man  knows  that  the  laws  of  science, 
and  only  to  a  lesser  extent  the  rules  of  applied  science,  are 
abstract  and  incapable  in  many  cases  of  being  put  to  prac- 
tical use.     So  the  wise  man  is  critical  of  scientific  conclu- 


380  ETHICS 

sions,  not  in  the  sense  that  he  undertakes  to  correct  them^ 
unless  he  is  a  worker  in  the  science  in  question,  but  in  the 
sense  that  he  does  not  accept  them  blindly  or  as  a  matter  of 
course.  And  even  when  the  wise  man  has  no  reason  for 
doubting  the  correctness  of  a  scientific  conclusion,  he  does 
not  make  use  of  it  unless  he  has  reason  to  believe  that  it  is 
fit  for  use,  for  he  knows  that  the  "  theorist "  is  "  doctrinaire" 
and  "  unpractical. " 

Experts.  —  Indeed,  scientific  knowledge  is  too  abstract  to 
be  used  by  the  average  man,  however  wise.  And  the  wise 
man,  unless  he  be  a  wise  scientist,  rarely  turns  to  science 
itself  for  aid,  while  even  the  wise  scientist  only  turns  ta 
his  own  science.  The  chief  resource  of  the  wise  man  is 
the  expert  in  each  field,  who  may  be  called  the  embodiment 
of  wisdom  therein.  For  if  the  chosen  field  is  not  too  broad 
and  complicated  for  his  powers,  it  is  possible  for  a  man  to 
possess  both  theoretical  knowledge  and  practical  skill  in 
that  field ;  in  it  he  can  be  both  comprehensive-minded  and 
sagacious.  If  a  man  has  the  six  characteristics  of  wisdom, 
and  among  them  knowledge  of  the  conclusions  of  science 
so  far  as  they  apply  to  a  particular  art,  and  if  he  has  put 
"these  conclusions  to  the  trial  and  tested  their  practical 
utility,  in  that  particular  art  he  is  an  expert,  a  wise  man 
of  limited  range,  and  yet  as  near  an  approach  to  the  wise 
man  once  dreamed  of  as  complex  conditions  permit. 

But  again,  not  every  one  who  poses  as  an  expert,  or  who 
is  thought  to  be  one,  is  an  expert.  And  as  one  of  the 
characteristics  of  the  wise  man  is  knowledge  of  when  to 
use  science  and  when  not,  another  of  his  characteristics  is 
knowledge  of  what  "  expert "  to  trust  and  what  "  expert " 
not  to  trust.  Genuine  experts  are  the  wisest  men  in  each 
field,  but  there  is  much  sham  expertness  and  many  sham 
experts. 

In  a  word,  science  and  experts  are  not  infallible  aids^ 
but  the  wise  man  so  uses  them  as  to  make  of  them  the 
best  aids  attainable.     Wisdom  accordingly  consists  of  the 


WISDOM  381 

six  characteristics  discussed,  and  of  a  special  aptitude 
in  using  the  conclusions  of  science  and  the  skill  of 
experts.^ 

Means  and  Ends. —  Only  voluntary  or  purposeful  action 
is  wise  or  foolish.  Non-voluntary  action  may  be  effective 
or  ineffective,  useful  or  harmful,  but  it  cannot  be  wise. 
It  follows,  therefore,  that  action  may  fail  of  wisdom  either 
because  of  the  end  or  purpose  sought,  or  because  of  the 
means  employed  to  attain  the  chosen  end.  The  man  who 
is  "  worldly-wise "  earns  that  title  because  of  his  happy 
selection  of  means  for  attaining  worldly  ends,  but,  as  Pro- 
fessor Sidgwick  says,  "  we  should  not  call  such  a  man  wise 
without  qualification,"  because  he  has  probably  unwisely 
chosen  his  end. 

Now  as  regards  means  ^  and  subordinate  ends  the  ethical 
wiiter  is  not  assumed  to  be  any  more  expert  than  any  other 
man ;  indeed,  as  regards  what  are  ordinarily  called  practi- 
cal affairs,  he  is  likely  to  be  less  expert  than  the  average 
man.  But  with  regard  to  knowledge  of  the  supreme  end, 
the  ethical  writer  is  called  upon  to  be  an  expert,  under  pain 
of  failing  in  his  chosen  undertaking.  It  is  only  ethical 
scientists  who  undertake  to  give  a  critical  and  authorita- 
tive account  of  the  supreme  end,  and  such  an  account  is  to 
be  found  in  their  writings  if  it  is  to  be  found  at  all.  The 
next  chapter  will  accordingly  undertake  the  task  of  describ- 
ing the  supreme  end,  though  it  will  be  convenient  to  point 
out  here  (1)  that  the  account  has  in  general  the  same  author- 
ity and  the  same  precariousness  as  other  scientific  accounts 
have,  and  (2)  that  no  description  can  be  expected  to  give  an 
exhaustive  account  of  the  end,  any  more  than  it  can  of  the 

1  The  man  with  administrative  ability  is  the  most  striking  example  of 
a  man  who  knows  how  to  make  use  of  science  and  experts,  though  tlie 
administrator  may  choose  ends  unwisely. 

2  Inasmuch  as  moral  conduct  is  a  means  to  the  supreme  end,  the  ethi- 
cal writer  is  in  so  far  presumed  to  have  expert  knowledge  of  means, 
though  not  necessarily  expert  skill  in  applying  that  knowledge,  i.e.  he 
may  in  no  wise  be  any  better  than  his  fellows.    Cf.  Ch.  II,  §  4. 


382  ETHICS 

virtues ;  in  this  case,  too,  there  is  a  stubbornly  indescrib- 
able remnant  known  only  to  insight.  The  wise  man  will 
in  his  actions  serve  the  supreme  end,  and  will  in  his  in- 
sight view  it,  but  not  even  he  can  describe  it  fully. 


CHAPTER  XV 
Welfarb 

It  appeared  in  the  last  chapter  that  Ethics  is  to  give  as 
full  and  accurate  an  account  as  possible  of  the  ultimate 
end  of  moral  action.  This  duty  was  in  part  performed  in 
Chapter  IX,  where  it  appeared  that  the  common  good  of 
all  cooperating  sentient  beings,  i.e.  that  sentient  welfare,  is 
the  ultimate  end  sought.  It  now  remains  for  this  chapter 
to  fill  in  that  statement  by  further  specification  of  the  com- 
mon good. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  sentient  welfare  is  made  up 
of  two  parts,  individual  welfare  and  social  vitality,  or  the 
strength  and  survival-power  of  organized  society.  These 
two  components  will  be  considered  in  order,  with  a  view 
to  describing  each  as  fully  as  possible.  As  a  matter  of  his- 
torical interest  it  may  be  recalled  that  the  question  of  the 
nature  of  individual  welfare,  i.e.  the  question  as  to  what 
it  is  to  the  interest  of  each  man  to  attain,  was  most  clearly 
discussed  by  Greek  and  Roman  moralists.  Of  course 
modern  writers  have  discussed  this  prudential  question, 
but  in  doing  so  they  have  often  confused  it  with  the  ques- 
tion as  to  what  each  man  as  moral  would  seek  to  attain, 
i.e.  with  the  moral  question  as  to  what  each  man  ought  to 
set  up  as  the  ultimate  goal  of  his  activities.  The  latter 
question  has  already  been  answered  in  Chapter  IX,  and 
individual  welfare  having  been  found  to  be  a  component  of 
the  ultimate  goody  it  is  now  in  order  to  describe  individual 

welfare. 

388 


884  ETHICS 

§  1.    Individual  Welfare 

There  are  many  theories  as  to  the  nature  of  individual 
welfare,  and  it  will  be  well  to  proceed  methodically  in  dis- 
cussing them.  Probably  the  best  method  will  be  to  tjike 
up  first  the  theories  that  formulate  their  description  in  the 
simplest  terms,  and  to  pass  from  these  gradually  to  theories 
whose  descriptions  are  more  complex. 

The  descriptions  of  hedonistic  theories  (from  ^Bov^  the 
Greek  word  for  pleasure)  are  on  the  whole  the  simplest. 
These  theories  maintain  that  individual  welfare  is  after  all 
made  up  of  pleasure  distributed  throughout  life  after  one 
fashion  or  another,  and  therefore  that  it  is  best  to  define  it 
in  terms  of  pleasure  and  the  absence  of  pain.  Moreover, 
of  the  two  forms,  Quantitative  Hedonism  is  simpler  than 
non-quantitative  Hedonism,  as  the  former  undertakes  to 
describe  well-being  solely  in  terms  of  the  quantity  of 
pleasure,  declaring  that  there  are  no  other  aspects  of  pleas- 
ure that  need  be  considered.  Accordingly,  Quantitative 
Hedonism  will  be  discussed  first.  Hedonism  second,  and 
afterwards  more  complex  theories  of  individual  welfare. 

Quantitative  Hedonism.  —  The  opponents  of  Quantita- 
tive Hedonism  sometimes  maintain  that  it  is  to  its  shifti- 
ness that  the  theory  owes  its  remarkable  vitality.  Refute 
one  argument  in  its  favour,  so  its  opponents  say,  and  it  turns 
to  another ;  refute  that,  and  it  turns  to  a  third,  and  so  on 
till  the  first  argument,  which  has  meantime  probably  been 
forgotten,  is  turned  to  a  second  time,  and  the  weary  round 
is  begun  afresh.  However  that  may  be,  there  are  several 
arguments  in  support  of  the  theory,  and  they  will  now  be 
considered  in  turn. 

The  two  chief  arguments  for  Quantitative  Hedonism  rest 
upon  two  different  interpretations  of  the  meaning  of  the  word 
"pleasure."  According  to  the  first,  the  only  "pleasure"  is 
the  pleasing  or  pleasant  experience  itself,  e.g.  the  sensation 
of  taste  experienced  in  eating  a  juicy  peach.     The  second 


WELFARE  885 

interpretation  asserts,  that  while  such  an  experience  is  cer- 
tainly pleasant,  the  liking  we  have  for  it,  the  enjoyment  or 
pleasure  we  take  in  it,  is  the  real  pleasure.  Let  us  assume 
that  there  is  a  pleasant  experience  and  a  pleasure  too,  and 
consider  Quantitative  Hedonism  from  the  point  of  view  of 
each  interpretation  in  turn.  According  to  the  first,  individ- 
ual welfare  consists  in  having  the  largest  possible  amount 
of  pleasant  experience ;  according  to  the  second,  it  consists 
in  having  as  much  enjoyment  or  pleasure  as  possible. 

In  support  of  the  first  form  of  Quantitative  Hedonism 
there  is  advanced  the  psychological  argument  which  main- 
tains that,  as  a  mere  matter  of  observation,  men  in  fact 
always  prefer  pleasant  to  painful  experiences,  and  that,  as 
between  two  pleasant  experiences,  they  always  prefer  the 
larger  or  bigger.  The  argument  is  not  that  men  should 
prefer  the  bigger,  nor  that  men  in  so  far  as  they  are  wise 
or  reasonable  prefer  it,  but  that  all  men  do  prefer  it.  In 
80  far  as  the  argument  asserts  that  men  prefer  pleasant  to 
painful  experience,  it  supports  non-quantitative  as  well  as 
Quantitative  Hedonism.  But  the  assertion  that  the  only 
thing  considered  in  assessing  the  value  of  pleasant  experi- 
ences is  the  quantity  or  amount  of  each  is  solely  in  the 
interest  of  Quantitative  Hedonism. 

The  cogency  of  this  argument  consists  in  its  appeal  to  un- 
sophisticated and  unhampered  liking.  All  sorts  of  consid- 
erations and  forces  confuse,  beset,  and  influence  men  in  their 
decisions.  But  if  the  argument  indicated  is  sound,  the 
genuine  leaning  of  man,  unspoiled  by  sophistical  theory, 
and  unhampered  by  disturbing  influence,  is  towards  pleas- 
ure, and,  in  presence  of  two  or  more  pleasures,  towards 
the  largest  pleasure.  Here,  then,  there  seems  to  be  no 
chance  for  error.  When  man  is  stripped  of  all  adventi- 
tious additions,  and  freed  from  all  quirks  and  distortions, 
when  he  is  brought  down  to  his  basal  individual  manhood, 
he  declares,  so  the  argument  holds,  for  the  greatest  attain- 
able amount  of  pleasant  experience. 
80 


386  ETHICS 

Because  of  the  form  in  which  it  is  stated,  there  is  some 
difficulty  in  getting  direct  evidence  against  this  argument. 
If  it  is  pointed  out  that  ascetics  take  to  sackcloth  and 
ashes,  and  to  mortification  of  the  flesh  in  other  forms,  the 
ready  answer  is,  that  their  unsophisticated  preference  is 
for  pleasant  experience  none  the  less,  and  that  their  choice 
is  determined  by  fear  of  punishment  for  self-indulgence, 
and  by  hope  of  abundant  reward  in  the  next  world  for 
their  present  self-sacrifice.  And  if  it  is  pointed  out  that 
many  men  forsake  physical  pleasures,  that  are  more  in- 
tense and  extensive,  for  intellectual  pleasures  inferior  in 
these  respects,  it  is  maintained  in  reply,  that  intellectual 
pleasures  are  more  enduring,  and  less  likely  to  be  followed 
by  disappointment,  discomfort,  and  pain,  and  that  these 
facts  sufficiently  explain  the  choice  of  the  latter.  And, 
in  view  of  the  impossibility  of  accurately  measuring  pleas- 
ant and  painful  experiences,  and  of  the  difficulty  of  disen- 
tangling the  interwoven  network  of  human  motives,  nothing 
that  is  conclusive  and  little  that  is  profitable  can  be  said 
in  rejoinder;  though  it  must  be  confessed  that  a  sane 
judgment  rebels  against  being  forced  to  the  conclusion 
that  mere  gross  quantity  is  alone  valuable. 

But  indirect  evidence  against  this  form  of  Quantitative 
Hedonism  is  not  difficult  to  find,  and  is  obviously  conclu- 
sive once  it  is  fully  grasped.  For  it  is  a  commonplace 
of  psychology  that  every  psychic  state,  whether  pleasant 
or  painful,  has  quality  as  well  as  quantity,  and  it  is  an 
undisputed  commonplace  of  everyday  observation  that 
pleasant  experiences  are  liked  and  preferred  quite  as  much 
for  their  qualities  as  for  their  quantities  or  amounts.  As 
to  the  first  commonplace,  a  pleasant  colour  and  a  pleasant 
sound,  e.g.  in  a  picture  and  symphony  respectively,  may 
have  the  same  quantity,  i.e.  sum  of  intensity,  extensity, 
and  duration,  but  the  two  can  never  be  the  same  in 
quality.  And  so  it  is  with  two  pleasant  colours,  or 
sounds,  or   kinds  of    muscular    sensation,  such   as  those 


WELFARE  887 

respectively  experienced  in  pulling  an  oar  and  in  think- 
ing hard  or  using  a  pen.  Besides  quantity  each  of 
these  pleasant  experiences  has  quality.  Again,  quality, 
far  from  having  no  influence  over  desire  and  prefer- 
ence, has  at  least  as  much  influence  as  quantity.  The 
flavour  or  quality  of  an  apple  may  be  pleasanter  than 
that  of  a  plum  of  equal  size!  The  pleasant  muscular 
experiences  incident  to  golf  may  be  preferred  to  those 
incident  to  tennis,  though  there  is  likely  to  be  more  of 
pleasant  experience  in  the  latter.  But  it  is  not  necessary 
to  multiply  examples.  It  is  so  evident  as  to  be  obvious 
that  the  quality  of  pleasant  experiences,  instead  of  being 
a  matter  of  indifference,  is  one  of  the  chief  factors  deter- 
mining liking  and  preference.^ 

Moreover,  in  addition  to  quantity  and  quality,  two  other 
factors  have  considerable  influence  in  determining  liking 
and  preference,  and  these  are  temperament,  or  inborn  taste, 
and  habit.  Some  men  have  a  native  preference  for  in- 
tellectual pursuits,  and,  among  them,  some  for  mathematics, 
some  for  literature,  some  for  experimental  science,  etc. 
Other  men  in  the  same  way  prefer  social,  political,  military 
pursuits,  or  some  trade,  or  adventure,  or  idleness.  The 
facts  are  sufficiently  plain  without  further  insistence,  and 
it  is  also  plain  that,  irrespective  of  mere  quantity,  one 
may  become  habituated  to  take  pleasure  in  what  before 
was  unpleasant,  and  may  come  to  take  growing  pleasure 
in  some  experience  as  time  goes  on.  To  be  sure,  to 
say  that  temperament  and  habit  influence  liking  and 
preference  is  not  so  accurate  as  to  say  that  temi)eramcnt 
and  habit  in  large  part  consist  of  likes  and  preferences. 

1  Moralists  have  soaictimes  thought  that  the  admission  of  quality  aa  au 
intrinsically  valuable  a8i)cct  of  pleasure  involves  a  cirrular  detinition. 
And  8o  it  does  if  moral  quality  and  tlie  end  that  men  oHffht  supremely  to 
serve  are  under  discusiiion,  for  Uien  the  statement  becomes  that  the 
morally  supreme  end  includes,  among  oUier  things,  moral  experience. 
But  here  tlie  discussion  is  concenied  with  psychological  quality  and  the 
-well-being  of  the  individual  man. 


388  ETHICS 

The  point  is,  that  it  is  not  quantity  and  quality  of  ex- 
periences that  determine  liking  and  preference,  but  these 
in  conjunction  with  the  individuality,  with  the  tempera- 
ment and  nature  of  the  agent.  Accordingly,  whether 
pleasures  A  or  B  shall  be  preferred  by  any  man  X,  depends 
in  part  on  the  respective  quantity  or  bigness  of  A  and  B, 
in  part  on  their  respective  qualities  or  kinds,  and  in  part 
on  what  sort  of  a  man  X  is. 

Of  course,  in  view  of  these  facts,  the  theory  that  the 
value  of  pleasant  experiences  depends  on  their  bigness  falls 
to  the  ground.  If  preference  depends  on  quality  and  in- 
dividuality quite  as  much  as  on  quantity,  it  obviously  does 
not  depend  on  quantity  alone. 

But  at  this  point  the  other  interpretation  of  pleasure  is 
adopted,  and  quantitative  hedonists  demur,  on  the  ground 
that  the  facts  cited  are  not  to  the  point.  The  value  of  an 
experience  does  not  depend,  they  will  assert,  on  what  kind 
of  an  experience  it  is,  but  simply  and  solely  on  the  inten- 
sity and  duration,  i.e.  on  the  quantity  of  the  liking  that 
it  arouses,  on  the  enjoyment  of  it  experienced,  on  the 
pleasure  taken  in  it.  It  makes  no  difference  what  is  liked. 
The  whole  question  is  how  long  and  how  intensely  it  is  liked, 
what  the  duration  and  intensity  of  the  pleasure  it  arouses 
are.  The  quality  of  the  sensation  of  taste  aroused  by  an 
apple  is  different  from  the  quality  of  that  aroused  by  a 
plum ;  the  kinds  of  muscular  sensations  experienced  while 
rowing  are  different  from  the  kinds  experienced  while 
thinking.  But  the  real  value  of  these  experiences  does  not 
■depend,  quantitative  hedonists  now  declare,  on  the  nature 
or  quality  of  the  experiences  themselves,  but  solely  on 
the  amount  of  enjoyment  that  is  in  fact  derived  from  them 
respectively. 

This  argument  of  Quantitative  Hedonism  is  plausible,  but 
is  in  fact  no  sounder  than  its  predecessor.  Moreover,  it  has 
already  been  answered  in  the  discussion  of  interest  in  self. 
Individuals  are  interested  in  having  enjoyment,  in  being 


WELFARE  889 

pleased,  contented,  satisfied,  and  other  things  being  equal, 
the  greater  or  larger  the  enjoyment  or  pleasure  the  better. 
But  men  are  aUo  interested  in  the  experiencei  they  enjoy 
and  have,  and  the  value  of  the  latter  depends  as  much  on 
their  quantity  and  quality  and  on  the  individuality  of  the 
agent,  as  on  the  enjoyment  they  arouse.  Fortunately  most 
men  take  pleasure  in  the  work  by  means  of  which  they 
support  themselves  and  those  dependent  on  them.  But, 
provided  a  man  pursues  an  honest  calling,  the  mere  fact 
of  working  and  supporting  himself  is  valuable  in  itself. 
The  man  who  supports  himself  is  more  of  a  man  than  the 
man  who  does  not,  and  the  life  of  the  former  is  in  so  far 
richer,  fuller,  more  desirable  than  the  life  of  the  latter,  and 
though  the  labour  be  uninteresting  this  is  still  true,  and  it 
is  true  even  when  it  is  hard  and  irksome.  Again,  knowl- 
edge and  education  generally  is  a  good,  though  it  is  pro- 
verbial that  in  much  learning  there  is  much  weariness,  and 
that  disillusionments  may  be  very  painful.  Difficulty, 
trial,  risk,  even  pain  itself  may  be  a  good,  as  an  indispensable 
means  for  exercising  a  man's  fortitude  and  teaching  him 
the  deeper  things  of  life.  A  man  who  reflects  is  not  likely 
to  wish  that  these  bitter-sweets  had  not  come  into  his  life, 
and  if  he  could  wish  them  away  his  life  would  be  inij)Ov- 
erished  by  their  omission.  Of  course,  labour,  education,  and 
other  experiences  of  the  same  class  are  partly  valuable  be- 
cause they  g^ve  pleasure  and  are  the  fruitful  sources  of 
many  other  good  things.  But  they  also  have  an  intrinsic 
value,  a  value  of  their  own.  In  short,  experiences  that 
give  pleasure  are  good  to  have,  as  is  easy  to  see,  but  ex])e- 
riences  themselves  have  a  value,  positive  or  negative,  quite 
independent  of  their  relation  to  pleasure  and  pain.  And 
in  fact  men  are  more  interested  in  their  experiences,  and 
especially  in  what  they  themselves  are,  than  in  the  amount 
of  pleasure  they  get  out  of  life ;  and  in  assessing  the  value 
of  each  life  for  its  agent,  the  last  consideration  is  by  no 
means  the  most  weighty. 


390  ETHICS 

So  it  appears  that  Quantitative  Hedonism  cannot  hold. 
The  value  of  pleasant  experiences  does  not  depend  on  tlieir 
size  alone,  but  quite  as  much  upon  their  quality  and  upon  the 
individuality  of  the  agent.  Nor  does  the  value  of  pleasant 
experiences  depend  wholly  on  the  amount  of  pleasure  they 
give,  since  the  experiences  that  give  pleasure,  and  even 
some  that  give  pain,  have  an  intrinsic  value  of  their  own. 
Moreover,  it  might  be  shown,  if  it  were  necessary,  that  the 
pleasures  to  which  different  experiences  give  rise  differ  in 
quality,  and  that  this  quality  too  must  be  considered  in 
assessing  the  value  of  the  pleasure  and  of  the  experience 
in  each  case.  But  enough  has  been  said.  It  is  difficult 
to  hold  to  the  first  interpretation  of  pleasure,  but  if  that 
is  done,  value  is  seen  to  depend  on  quality  and  individual- 
ity quite  as  much  as  on  quantity.  And  when  the  second 
interpretation  is  adopted,  it  turns  out  that  while  the  fact 
that  the  experience  gives  pleasure  adds  to  its  value,  yet 
the  experience  itself  has  from  the  start  a  value  of  its  own, 
which  may  not  be  neglected.  In  either  case  Quantitative 
Hedonism  is  an  inadequate  theory. 

As  a  last  resort,  quantitative  hedonists  may  say  that 
though  all  men  do  not  assess  the  value  of  experiences 
solely  on  the  bases  of  the  amount  of  pleasure  they  give,  all 
wise  men  do  make  their  estimates  on  that  basis.  But  when 
quantitative  hedonists  retreat  to  this  position,  their  cause 
is  lost.  For,  in  the  first  place,  those  reputed  wise  by  gen- 
eral consent,  from  Socrates  downward,  are  most  conspic- 
uous for  neglect  of  pleasure  and  its  amount,  and  for 
emphasis  on  the  kind  of  experience  they  have  and  the  kind 
of  men  they  are.  And,  in  the  second  place,  no  valid 
reasons  can  be  given  for  maintaining  that  the  quality  of 
experiences  themselves,  and  the  kind  of  man  one  becomes 
in  getting  them,  are  negligible  considerations  in  determin- 
ing the  value  of  experience. 

Hedonism. —  And  now,  dropping  Quantitative  Hedonism 
and  coming  to  Hedonism  itself,  it  appears  at  once  that  the 


WELFARE  391 

discussion  just  closed  has  greatly  simplified  what  has  to 
be  said  here.  For  it  is  only  necessary  to  state  explicitly 
the  conclusions  to  which  we  are  driven  by  the  facts  dis- 
covered. And  the  statement  can  be  made  in  a  sentence. 
To  be  pleased,  to  have  enjoyment  as  intense  and  enduring 
as  possible,  is  a  good  thing,  but  there  are  also  experiences, 
some  enjoyable,  others  not,  which  in  themselves  are  also 
good  to  have.  Pleasure  is  undoubtedly  a  good,  but  there 
are  other  goods,  some  of  which  are  better  than  being 
pleased.  Such  is  the  conclusion  to  which  the  facts  lead, 
and  it  is  a  conclusion  that  observation,  however  cursory, 
amply  confirms. 

There  is  indeed  a  broader  form  of  Hedonism,  called  the 
happiness  theory  or  Epicureanism,  that  contains  an  element 
of  truth,  and  deserves  a  word  for  that  reason.  The  hap- 
piness theory  *  admits,  fii-st,  that  pleasure  differs  in  quality, 
and  that  selection  is  therefore  necessary,  and  secondly,  that 
some  pleasures  are  accompanied  or  followed  by  pain,  while 
some  pains  are  accompanied  or  followed  by  pleasure,  and 
that  a  systematic  and  well-organized  plan  is  therefore  nec- 
essary in  selecting  pleasures  and  pains  and  distributing 
them  through  life.  The  happiness  theory,  accordingly, 
refusing  to  rest  on  quantity  alone,  asserts  that,  just  as  the 
value  of  a  wheat  crop  cannot  be  fully  determined  by  sepa- 
rating the  wheat  from  the  chuff  and  then  weighing  the 
grain  sacks,  so  the  value  of  a  life  cannot  be  determined  by 
merely  separating  pleasure  from  pain  and  calculating  the 
amount  of  each.  As  some  wheat  is  better  and  some  worse, 
so  is  some  pleasure  better  and  some  worse,  and  some  pain 
worse  than  other  pain.  And  again,  as  some  men  are  good 
in  themselves,  but  dangerous  and  to  be  avoided  because  of 
their  associations,  and  others,  insignificant  enough  in  them- 
selves, are  so  circumstanced  that  they  must  be  reckoned 
with,  and,  it  may  be,  deferred  to;   so  pleasure  may  be 

1  Not  to  be  confounded  with  Eudemonism,  or  the  weliare  theory.    CL 
the  discussion  of  Eudemonism  tliat  follows. 


892  ETHICS 

dangerous  and  pains  choiceworthy.  On  the  whole,  accord- 
ing to  the  happiness  theory,  the  value  of  a  life  depends  on 
the  prudent  selection  of  pleasures  and  unavoidable  pains, 
and  on  the  tactful,  the  tasteful,  the  artistic  arrangement  of 
its  included  pleasures  and  pains.^ 

Now,  in  so  far  as  the  happiness  theory  insists  on  prudent 
selection,  it  is  far  ahead  of  Hedonism,  for  quality  is  a  fun- 
damental fact  of  life,  as  psychology  is  the  first  to  show. 
And  in  so  far  as  the  theory  insists  on  the  value  of  a  plan- 
ful  system,  it  is  right  beyond  question,  for  the  entangle- 
ment of  experiences  is  inconceivably  great,  and  only 
planful  deliberation  can  make  even  a  beginning  of  order- 
ing them  ;  and  besides,  a  point  of  fundamental  importance, 
man  is  essentially  a  planning  animal,  and  his  life  would 
be  inhuman  and  a  failure  if  it  were  without  plan. 

But  happiness  or  epicurean  theories  have  always 
aroused  suspicion  and  a  certain  manly  revolt.  To  the 
healthy-minded,  energetic  man,  full  of  resolve  and  inter- 
ested in  the  accomplishment  of  his  purposes,  there  is  some- 
thing unwholesome,  decadent,  perverted  even,  in  the 
theory,  and  especially  in  the  inward  gaze  of  its  upholders. 
Is  life  of  much  value  if  one  is  to  be  continually  feeling 
of  himself  to  find  out  whether  he  is  pleased  or  not,  and 
if  so  how  much?  Is  such  a  life  wholesome,  satisfactory, 
worthy  ?  ^ 

And  whatever  the  practical  effect  of  holding  the  theory 
may  be  on  the  minds  of  those  who  believe  in  it.  Epicurean- 
ism is  in  error,  for  reasons  that  are  sufficiently  familiar  by 
this  time.  Broadminded  and  wise  as  the  theory  is  in  in- 
sisting on  the  importance  of  selection  and  organization  of 

*  Probably  the  most  finished  and  pleasing  representation  of  this  epicu- 
rean point  of  view  is  to  be  found  in  the  late  Walter  Pater's  Marius  the 
Epicurean. 

2  Of  course  epicureans  need  not  think  only  of  pleasure.  They  may  be 
■wise  enough  to  know  that  they  must  forget  it  to  get  it.  But  in  selecting 
and  arranging  pleasures  it  is  difficult  not  to  think  more  of  pleasure  than 
of  anything  else. 


WELFARE  898 

pleasures  and  pains^  it  commits  a  fatal  error  in  assuming 
that  pleasures  alone  are  valuable.  The  kinds  of  pleasure 
and  pain  selected  and  their  organization  may  be  fully 
known,  and  yet  only  a  short  step  be  taken  towards  ascer- 
taining the  value  of  a  life.  In  addition  it  is  necessary  to 
know  what  experiences^  pleasant  and  unpleasant,  the  indi- 
vidual has  had,  how  these  experiences  have  been  selected 
and  organized  for  and  by  him,  and  what  manner  of  man 
he  has  shown  himself  to  be.  Planful  selection  and  organi- 
zation, as  showing  the  manner  of  man,  is  of  the  utmost 
significance,  but  it  must  be  planful  selection  and  organi- 
zation of  pleasures,  pains,  and  experieneet^  and  not  of 
pleasures  and  pains  alone. 

In  sum,  then,  the  examination  of  Hedonism  has  disclosed 
to  us  one  of  the  components  of  welfare,  one  of  the  intrinsi- 
cally valuable  things  of  life,  and  that  of  course  is  pleasure. 
But  it  has  also  made  it  plain  that  every  experience  has  its 
own  intrinsic  value,  whether  positive  or  negative,  and 
especially  that  planful  or  voluntary  action,  as  the  indica- 
tion and  embodiment  of  character,  as  standing  for  the 
man  himself,  probably -has  more  to  do  with  the  value  of 
life  than  any  other  one  factor.  If  a  man  has  stood  up  for 
the  right  things,  and  battled  for  them  in  manly  fashion,  he 
is  so  largely  fortunate  that  much  ill  in  other  directions 
cannot  render  his  life  valueless  to  him.  That,  at  least, 
is  the  direction  in  which  the  facts  examined  |>oint,  and  a 
little  reflection  will  show  that  they  therefore  point  to  per- 
fectionism, which  accordingly  must  now  be  considered. 

Perfectionism.  —  In  fact  there  always  have  been  moral- 
ists to  maintain  that  from  the  prudential  quite  as  much 
as  from  the  moral  point  of  view  ^  perfection  is  a  good, 
some  going  so  far  as  to  declare  that  perfection  is  the 
whole  of  individual  welfare.  To  be  sure,  by  definition 
the  perfect  man  is  the  perfectly  moral  man,  i.e.  the  man 
who  does  all  that  is  possible  in  serving  sentient  welfare. 

iCf.  Ch.  IX,  I  %. 


394  •  ETHICS 

But  it  is  also  said  that  the  perfect  man  is  the  fortunate 
man,  or,  as  the  phrase  goes,  virtue  is  happiness.^  There 
are  differences  of  course,  some  perfectionists  declaring 
that  virtue  is  a  component  of  welfare,  others  that  it  is 
the  whole  of  welfare.  But  that  question  will  be  con- 
sidered presently.  Important  to  note  at  present  is  the  fact 
that  from  Socrates,  Plato,  Aristotle,  and  the  Stoics  down- 
wards it  has  persistently  been  maintained,  chiefly  in  op- 
position to  Hedonism,  that  the  unvirtuous  man  essentially 
fails  of  welfare.  As  Hedonism  has  always  had  supporters, 
Perfectionism  has  always  had  supporters,  both  as  a  moral 
and  as  a  prudential  theory;  one  has  been  as  persistently 
advocated  as  the  other. 

Probably  Aristotle's  profound  remark  suggests,  when  ap- 
plied to  the  problem  of  individual  welfare,  the  weightiest 
considerations  in  favour  of  perfection.  For  man  is  a  politi- 
cal or,  in  modern  phrase,  a  social  animal.  Were  it  not 
for  the  associated  state,  man  would  never  have  come  into 
existence ;  had  this  state  not  continued,  man  would  have 
perished.  Man  is  born  into  society,  is  adjusted  to  society, 
and  from  society  comes  practically  everything  that  makes 
life  worth  living  for  him.  Again,  man  is  distinctively  a 
voluntary  agent,  and  putting  these  two  facts  together,  it 
is  seen  that  it  is  of  the  essence  of  humanity,  of  manhood, 
to  be  a  social  member  cooperating  with  other  members  in 
maintaining  and  perfecting  society  and  in  maximizing  the 
welfare  of  all  who  belong  to  society.  To  be  anti-social  is, 
quite  literally,  to  turn  one's  back  on  the  source  of  all  light 
and  all  civilization,  of  all  comfort,  decency,  security, 
order,  worth,  nobility ;  in  a  word,  it  is  to  be  inhuman  and 
unmanly.  And,  of  course,  the  present  question  is  not 
whether  or  not  a  man  ought  to  constrain  his  inclinations 
to  virtuous  or  to  so  much  as  dutiful  conduct.     We  are 

^  In  this  phrase  happiness  is  used  in  the  sense  of  welfare.  Again,  the 
discussion  of  Eudemonism,  soon  to  follow,  is  referred  to  for  the  difference 
between  happiness  and  welfare. 


WELFARE  895 

not  concerned  with  man's  obligations  to  become  perfect, 
in  so  far  as  he  is  imperfect,  or  to  remain  perfect,  if  perfect 
he  is.  The  question  is  simply  and  solely  whether  a  less 
perfect  man  is  more  or  less  fortunate  than  a  more  perfect 
man,  whether  the  man  who  is  well  adjusted  to  his  fellows, 
and  as  serviceable  as  possible  to  the  welfare  of  all,  is  to  be 
congratulated  or  to  be  commiserated  with,  whether  because 
of  that  fact  his  welfare  is  greater  or  less.  And  the  answer 
is  not  doubtful.  The  man  who  is  brave  and  temperate, 
who,  in  a  word,  is  self-controlled,  and  who  in  addition  is 
benevolent  and  just  and  wise,  is  not  thought  less  fortunate 
for  that  reason.  Men,  whether  from  inertia,  from  hope- 
lessness because  of  the  magnitude  of  the  task,  or  from 
ignorance,  may  not  bestir  themselves  to  become  virtuous, 
but  to  admit  that  is  not  to  say  that  they  do  not  value 
virtue,  but  only  to  say  that  they  do  not  always  seek  it  and 
know  it.  And  when  others  come  near  to  perfection,  while 
we  may  envy  them,  misjudge  them,  hate  them  even,  yet, 
if  we  are  convinced  that  they  are  virtuous,  we  certainly 
do  not  think  that  a  misfortune  for  them.  Rather,  at  least 
in  the  sincerity  of  our  inner  thought,  do  we  consider  virtu- 
ous men  the  most  fortunate  of  their  kind. 

And,  while  virtue  is  unquestionably  valuable  in  part 
because  courage,  temperance,  benevolence,  justice,  and 
wisdom  are  the  most  fruitful  of  all  qualities  in  the  num- 
ber of  good  things  they  bring  their  possessors,  it  must  be 
insisted  ^gain  that  virtuous  conduct,  too,  has  an  intrinsic 
value  independent  of  the  good  it  brings  in,  a  value  of  its 
own  that  recompenses  the  virtuous  man  for  many  misfor- 
tunes. To  have  been  a  man  throughout  life  compensates 
for  many  stings  and  arrows  of  outrageous  fortune. 

That  perfection,  that  even  a  good  approximation  to  per- 
fection, is  a  contribution  to  individual  welfare  is  plain  to 
see,  and  it  is  because  of  this  fact  that  there  have  always 
been  perfectionists.  But  is  it  true  that  virtue  is  the  wholo 
of  welfare,  so  that,  provided  a  man  is  virtuous,  his  cup  of  life 


396  ETHICS 

is  full  ?  And  evidently  the  answer  must  be  in  the  negative. 
For,  in  the  first  place,  happiness,  and  many  valuable  expe- 
riences that  are  neither  happiness  nor  virtuous  conduct, 
are  necessary  to  welfare.  And,  while  virtue  does  much  to 
secure  happiness  and  other  goods,  it  cannot  do  everything. 
The  individual  is  not  the  only  power  in  the  universe  ;  there 
are  other  men,  there  are  physical  forces,  and  unquestionably 
there  are  other  spiritual  forces  besides.  And,  being  igno- 
rant of  physical  and  spiritual  forces,  and  to  a  great  extent 
of  human  forces  too,  we  say  there  is  such  a  thing  as  chance, 
and  that,  even  though  a  man's  power  and  desert  should  be 
at  a  maximum,  misfortune  may  come  to  him  nevertheless. 
The  glory  of  civilization  is,  that  lulled  by  its  protections, 
men  often  forget  their  individual  insignificance  and  impo- 
tence, and  are  tempted  to  believe  that  the  virtuous  man  is  all 
but  certain  to  compass  welfare.  But  with  all  the  safeguards 
of  the  highest  civilization  this  is  not  strictly  true,  while 
under  less  civilized  or  under  barbarous  conditions  the 
virtuous  man  may  be  nearly  submerged  under  misfortune, 
at  the  same  time  that  the  unvirtuous  man  flourishes  and 
prospers  in  a  worldly  way.  And  the  fact  that  under  any 
conditions  virtue  may  be  coupled  with  misfortune  and  vice 
with  good  fortune  is  of  itself  evidence  in  full  confirmation 
of  our  previous  conclusion,  that  there  are  other  goods 
besides  perfection,  and  these  goods  consist,  of  course,  of 
happiness  and  valuable  experiences  that  are  not  virtuous 
conduct. 

Hedonism  and  Perfectionism  thus  point  out  two  com- 
ponents of  individual  welfare,  pleasure,  or  better,  happiness,, 
and  virtue,  and  both  suggest  that  there  are  other  com- 
ponents.     These  other  components  must  now  be  found. 

Eudemoni%m.  —  In  a  previous  discussion  eudemonistic 
theories  were  contrasted  with  perfectionist  theories,  the 
former  maintaining  that  the  ultimate  end  for  each  moral 
man  is  his  own  welfare,  the  latter  maintaining  that  his  per- 
fection is  that  end.     But  at  present  it  is  not  the  moral  end 


WELFARE  397 

but  the  prudent  end  that  is  being  discussed,  and  inasmuch 
as  Perfectionism  declares,  and  rightly,  that  virtue  is  a  com- 
ponent of  individual  welfare,  Perfectionism  has  turned  out 
to  be  a  eudemonistic  theory  from  this  the  prudential  point 
of  view.  But  it  has  also  appeared  that  perfection  is  not  the 
whole  of  welfare,  and  eudemonistic  theories  and  welfare 
itself  must  be  further  examined  in  order  to  discover  its 
remaining  components.  These  facts  and  theories  are  some- 
what confusedly  interwoven,  but  the  author  is  not  respon- 
sible for  their  entanglement,  but  only  for  a  reasonably 
clear  statement  of  their  interrelations. 

Before  proceeding  to  the  examination,  a  question  of 
terminology,  involving  the  relative  meaning  of  welfare 
and  happiness,  calls  for  a  few  words.  Eudemonism  is 
derived  from  the  Greek  word  evBaifiopui^  which  I  have 
always  translated  welfare,  varying  that  word,  however,  in 
appropriate  contexts,  by  substituting  good  fortune,  a  valu- 
able experience  or  life,  etc.  This  translation  seems  to  be 
justified  by  the  composition  of  the  noun  evSaifiov{a  and  its 
adjective  evBaifiov.  For  €v  means  well  and  Baifiov  means 
a  spirit,  and  consequently  a  man  is  evSaifiop  who  is  under 
the  protection  of  good  spirits,  or,  possibly,  to  whom  the 
gods  are  good ;  and  such  a  man  is  fortunate,  his  life  has 
value,  and  is  filled  with  valuable  experience.  But  this 
translation  is  not  usual,  for  evSacfiovia  is  all  but  universally 
translated  by  happiness,  and  happiness  has  come  to  be  gen- 
erally used  when  welfare  or  good  fortune  would  express 
the  meaning  far  better.  And  the  substitution  of  happiness 
is  much  to  be  regretted  for  the  confusion  it  has  introduced 
into  Ethics.  For  happiness  is  so  closely  related  in  mean- 
ing to  pleasure,  that  when  one  speaks  of  happiness,  a  life 
full  of  pleasures,  well  selected  and  arranged  to  be  sure,  is 
most  likely  to  be  thought  of,  while  valuable  experiences 
that  are  not  pleasures  are  too  likely  to  be  neglected,  if  not 
entirely  lost  from  view.  Happiness  is,  to  say  the  lea.st,  a 
very  misleading  translation  of  evSatfiovCa^  and  happiness  or 


398  ETHICS 

epicurean  theories  are  thin,  poor,  inadequate,  as  has  been 
seen,  for  they  neglect  some  of  the  most  valuable  components 
of  welfare. 

The  account  of  individual  welfare  given  in  this  section 
is  based  upon  the  account  given  by  Aristotle,  who,  of 
course,  had  evBaifiovia,  or  welfare,  fully  and  clearly  in 
mind  as  the  object  under  investigation.  That  his  account 
should  have  been  so  long  and  so  much  neglected  is  to  be 
explained  partly  by  the  shifting  of  the  stress  of  interest 
from  the  prudential  to  the  moral  problem,  partly,  in  modern 
times  at  least,  by  the  confusion  of  happiness  with  welfare, 
—  indeed,  it  is  difficult  to  point  out  any  one  since  Aristotle 
who  is  not  guilty  of  the  confusion,  —  and  partly  by  the 
persistent  vogue  of  hedonistic  theories,  which  are  certainly 
simpler,  and  in  so  far  more  attractive.  Note  in  the  follow- 
ing quotations  from  Aristotle  the  mention  of  perfection  and 
of  other  components  too,  and  note,  also,  what  other  compo- 
nents are  mentioned.  "  To  constitute  welfare,"  says  Aiis- 
totle,  "there  must  be  complete  virtue  and  fit  external  con- 
ditions,"and  in  another  passage,  "  Why,  then,  should  we  not 
call  evBaifiov  the  man  who  works  in  the  way  of  perfect  virtue, 
and  is  furnished  with  external  goods  sufficient  for  acting  his 
part  in  the  di-ama  of  life ;  and  this  during  no  ordinary 
period,  but  such  as  constitutes  a  well-conditioned  life  as  we 
have  been  describing  it?" ^  And  among  the  external  con- 
ditions Aristotle  has  described  are  friends,  money,  political 
influence,  good  birth,  fine  offspring,  even  beauty.  The  list 
is  empirical  and  unsystematic,  and,  indeed,  Aristotle  makes 
no  attempt  to  make  it  exhaustive  or  to  give  it  orderly 
arrangement.  It  serves  well,  none  the  less,  to  suggest  the 
experiences  that  are  valuable  to  men. 

And  now,  following  out  these  suggestions  of  Aris- 
totle's, how  is  a  satisfactory  account  of  the  components 
of  a  genuinely  desirable  life  to  be  obtained?  Two  of 
these  components,   happiness    and   virtue,   have    already 

1  Nic.  Eth.y  Bk,  I,  Ch.  XI,  Lewes's  Translation. 


WELFARE  899 

been  obtained,  and  need  no  further  consideration.  And 
as  to  the  remainder,  the  answer  is  similar  to  that  given  to 
similar  problems  in  former  discussions.  The  best  way  to 
discover  these  components  is  to  find  out  what  mankind 
has  learned  with  growing  experience  unanimously  to  value. 
And  the  best  way  to  find  these  valuable  experiences  is  to 
discover  the  things  that  men  have  put  forth  their  energies 
and  undergone  sacrifices  to  obtain,  and  once  obtained,  to 
protect,  the  things  for  whose  protection  men  have  insti- 
tuted courts  and  put  forth  all  the  cooijerative  power 
they  have  been  able  to  command.  Nor  is  it  necessary  to 
undertake  a  fresh  investigation  in  order  to  discover  what 
these  experiences  are.  They  are  already  known  from  the 
discussions  concluded  in  the  chapter  on  justice.  The  in- 
terests that  men  have  toiled  for  and  protected,  and  called 
on  the  courts  to  protect,  are  made  plain  by  the  law  of 
torts  and  the  criminal  law.  And  these  interests  are  life, 
bodily  safety  and  well-being,  sense  of  security,  personal 
liberty,  enjoyment  of  property,  friendly  relations  to  other 
beings,  useful  knowledge,  healthy  social  conditions,  and 
good  government.  Add  to  these  happiness  and  virtue,  and 
a  reasonably  long  list  is  already  compiled. 

But  this  list  is  not  in  the  most  convenient  form.  While 
it  is  certain  that  such  persistent  and  cooperative  efforts 
would  not  have  been  put  forth  to  protect  any  but  very 
valuable  interests,  it  may  be  that  some  very  valuable  pos- 
sessions are  not  included  in  the  list,  for  only  possession 
that  the  courts  can  protect  appear  therein.  Now  a  glance 
at  the  list  will  make  it  plain  that,  with  one  or  two  excep- 
tions, e.g.  life,  they  consist  of  sources  from  which  valuable 
experiences  come,  rather  than  of  these  experiences  them- 
selves. Liberty,  for  instance,  is  abstention  from  interfer- 
ence and  constraint  on  the  part  of  others,  which  gives,  but 
is  not,  desirable  experience.  And  so  it  is  with  property, 
family  relations,  reputation,  etc.  It  would  appear,  then, 
that  if  a  systematic  idea  of  the  sources  of  valuable  experi- 


400 


ETHICS 


TABLE  OF  COMPONENTS  OF  INDIVIDUAL  WELFARE 


SOURCES 


DESIRABLE  CONDI- 
TION OF  SOURCES 


VALUABLE  EXPERIENCES 


Own  body. 


Health. 

Skill  (vide  wisdom). 
Pleasing    appearance 
(vide  friends,  etc.). 


Nature.  |     Property. 


Occ 


Human 
be- 
ings. 


God. 


Priendly  feeling  from 
family,  friends,  fellow- 
countrymen,  fellow- 
members  of  organi- 
zations. 

Favourable  judgment ; 
admiration,  trust,  re- 
spect, etc. 

Friendly  will,  help, 
cooperation,  abstention 
from  interference,  etc. 

{Satisfaction  with  in- 
dividual. 


The 


External  strength,  in- 
State   I  ^^^'^^^  worth,  and  law, 
*  I  order,  and  prosperity. 


One's  self. 


Sense  of  health ;   easy  and 
satisfactory  activity,  etc. 

Of      skilful 


Reasonable 
consciousness 
(cf.  wisdom). 

Satisfaction 


action. 
Of  personal 

attractiveness. 

of  reasonable 
(vide  wisdom  and  benevolence) 
desires  and  inclinations.  Sense 
of  solvency  and  of  financial 
security  and  power.  Sense  of 
leisure. 

Consciousness  of  these  de- 
sirable conditions,  family  or 
home  experience,  experience 
as  friend,  patriot,  member  of 
other  organizations,  occupa- 
tion or  office,  satisfaction  from 
social  standing,  cooperative 
and  assisted  activity,  sense  of 
external  freedom,  i.e.  freedom 
from  external  hindrances, 
congenial  enjoyments  (vide 
health  and  prosperity). 

Sense  of  divine  favour. 

National  pride,  sense  of  se- 
curity, i.e.  of  freedom  from 
fear  of  violence  or  other  in- 
justice. 

Courage  and  temperance, 
i.e.  self-control  or  internal 
freedom,  freedom  from  the 
tyranny  of  one's  unreflective 
nature. 

Benevolence :  a  body  of 
spontaneous  activities  that  are 
capable,  strong,  and  well 
poised. 

Justice  :  systematic  idea  or 
sense  of  rights  and  duties. 

Wisdom :  intelligence,  learn- 
ing, training,  sagacity. 


ence  could  be  had,  a  more  orderly  and  adequate  account 
of  the  components   of   individual  welfare  would   follow. 


WELFARE  401 

And  such  an  idea  is  easy  to  obtain.  For  experience  comes 
from  each  man's  body,  from  nature  in  so  far  as  it  affects 
his  body,  from  other  persons  or  selves,  and  from  the  man 
as  a  pei-son  or  self.  On  the  basis  of  this  classification  of 
sources,  it  will  be  possible  to  specify  the  desirable  condi- 
tion of  the  sources,  and  the  kinds  of  valuable  experiences 
that  come  from  them.     (See  table  on  p.  400.) 

Remarks  on  the  Table.  —  It  will  be  noted  that  pleasure 
and  happiness  are  not  specifically  noted  in  the  table.  But 
this  is  merely  because  all  or  nearly  all  the  valuable  ex- 
periences give  pleasure,  and  all  in  combination  insure 
happiness.  For,  as  Aristotle  says,  pleasure  is  "  a  perfec- 
tion superadded  to  an  activity,  like  the  bloom  of  youth 
to  people  in  the  prime  of  life."  ^  It  might  have  been 
well,  under  benevolence,  to  have  mentioned  content,  a 
form  of  feeling  which  does  more  for  happiness  than  any 
other. 

The  reader  is  asked  to  consider  the  list  of  valuable 
experiences  as  a  whole.  For  no  number  of  them  without 
the  rest  constitutes  welfare.  This  has  been  seen  in  the 
case  of  virtue,  whose  presence  does  much,  but  not  every- 
thing, to  insure  the  presence  of  other  components,  and  the 
insufficiency  of  other  components  is  greater  and  more  evi- 
dent. A  man  may  be  happy  and  content  in  spite  of  seri- 
ous misfortunes,  he  may  have  health  or  wealth  and  still  be 
most  unfortunate,  and  so  with  friendly  intercourse,  family 
relations,  and  the  rest.  The  mistake  is  sometimes  made 
of  considering  some  of  these  components,  e.g.  wealth, 
beauty,  as  evils,  though  this  is  generally  done  in  opposi- 
tion to  those  who  declare  them  to  be  the  whole  of  welfare, 
or  at  least  to  those  who  greatly  overvalue  them.  But 
they  are  not  evils,  but  components  of  welfare  that  may 
be  ill  used  and  turned  into  evils  if  other  components  are 
not  present  also. 

It  will  also  be  observed  that  many  of  the  components 

»  Nic.  Eth.,  Bk.  X,  Ch.  IV,  Weldon'a  TranslaUon. 
2d 


402  ETHICS 

are  mutually  assistant  and  complementary,  so  much  so 
that  tabulation  is  made  very  difticult.  Skill,  for  instance, 
is  partly  a  state  of  the  body  and  partly  a  state  of  the 
mind.  Consciousness  of  personal  attractiveness  is  a  good 
only  if  it  is  reasonable  or  wise ;  otherwise  it  becomes  van- 
ity which  is  not  a  good.  Occupation,  office,  social  stand- 
ing, etc.,  come  quite  as  much  from  skill  and  capacity  as 
from  the  favour  of  others.  Skill,  health,  wealth,  are  due 
nearly  as  much  to  the  friendship  and  trust  of  others  as  to 
the  state  of  one's  body  and  of  nature.  Finally,  all  other 
valuable  experiences  depend  more  on  the  character  of  the 
man  himself  than  on  any  other  single  factor. 

Moreover,  it  is  evident  that  the  different  component* 
are  of  different  value.  Roughly  speaking,  they  increase 
in  value  from  first  to  last,  what  comes  from  nature  and 
the  body  being  least  valuable,  while  virtue  is  most  valua- 
ble. But  each  component  is  a  good,  whether  a  greater  or 
a  lesser  good.  These  things  cannot  be  shown  in  a  table, 
but  they  can  be  suggested  by  it,  and  a  careful  reader  will 
observe  them,  and  much  else  besides. 

Again,  it  will  be  plain  that  there  are  degrees  of  welfare, 
In  no  men  are  all  the  components  fully  present,  and  yet 
some  men  are  most  fortunate,  for  a  man  may  have  fared 
well  though  he  has  fallen  short  of  the  full  measure  of 
health,  wealth,  popularity,  security,  etc.,  and  even  although 
he  has  fallen  short  of  the  full  measure  of  virtue.  A  man 
has  fared  well  into  whose  life  a  sufficiency  of  good  things 
has  come.  Nor  is  a  man's  misfortune  necessarily  great 
when  some  of  the  components  are  all  but  wholly  absent, 
e.g.  wealth,  bodily  attractiveness,  national  pride.  But 
the  most  important  components  must  be  present  in  due 
measure. 

Finally,  the  purpose  of  the  table  is  not  to  compel  an 
understanding  of  welfare,  or  make  such  an  understanding 
unavoidable.  The  purpose  merely  is  to  give  assistance 
towards  the  understanding  of  what  individual  welfare  is- 


WELFARE  403 

No  doubt  there  are  repetitions  in  the  table,  probably  some 
components  are  omitted,  —  those  mentioned  could  at  all 
events  be  more  concretely  described,  —  and  it  is  certain 
that  a  more  systematic  presentation  could  and  in  time 
will  be  made.  Besides,  an  extremely  vital  question  re- 
mains unanswered  —  the  question  of  the  proportion  of  the 
dififerent  components  proper  to  constitute  welfare.  For 
health,  wealth,  friends,  and  other  goods  may  be  increased 
at  the  expense  of  virtue,  and  in  general  any  one  may  be 
increased  at  the  expense  of  any  other.  How  much  of  each 
must  be  present,  then,  in  order  that  welfare  should  be 
enjoyed?  This  is  one  of  the  most  difficult  of  ethical 
problems.  With  regard  to  the  relative  proportion  of  virtue 
and  the  other  components  the  next  chapter  will  have 
something  to  say.  But  on  the  whole  the  question  is  not 
capable  of  an  exact  answer.  This  is  one  of  the  places 
where  description  fails,  and  insight  is  the  only  resource, 
for,  as  was  mentioned  in  the  last  chapter,  the  end  cannot 
be  fully  described  any  more  than  the  virtues  can.  The 
insight  and  judgment  of  the  wise  man  enable  him  to 
secure  the  right  proportion,  but  even  he  can  lay  down 
no  rule  or  formula  by  means  of  which  others  may  attain 
to  the  same  success.  And  all  that  remains  for  us  is  to 
observe  the  wise  man,  and  profit  as  much  as  possible  from 
his  example. 

§  2.     National  Welfare 

At  present  mankind  is  organized  into  a  number  of  sov- 
ereign states  or  nations,  and  the  welfare  of  these  nations 
is  essential  to  the  welfare  of  mankind;  the  statement 
being  made  subject  to  some  limitAtions  to  be  discussed  in 
the  next  section.  Of  course  the  time  may  come  when  the 
whole  of  mankind  will  form  one  state,  but  no  all-inclusive 
state  now  exists,  and  it  is  impossible  to  give  a  scientific 
description  of  human  welfare  under  conditions  so  largely 
hypothetical.  In  order  to  describe  human  welfare,  national 
welfare  must  be  described. 


404  ETHICS 

National  welfare  consists  of  individual  welfare  combined 
with  social  or  national  vitality.  And  as  regards  the  first 
component,  the  ideal  is  of  course  to  minister  to  the  welfare 
of  each  and  every  individual  who  has  membership  in  the 
State  or  is  under  its  protection  and  control  (whether  the 
individual  be  human  or  animal).  But  it  has  not  been,  and 
probably  never  will  be,  possible  to  put  the  ideal  literally 
into  practice.  To  be  sure  it  is  owing  to  human  incapacity 
that  closer  approximations  to  the  ideal  have  not  been 
attained,  but  incapacity,  alike  in  governing  and  governed, 
in  controlling  and  controlled,  is  probably  an  ineradicable, 
though  it  is  hoped  a  diminishingly  important,  element  in  the 
situation,  and  approximations  to  the  ideal  must  therefore 
content  us.  Some  men  are  immoral,  i.e.  open-eyed  enemies 
of  society,  other  men  (and  animals)  are  dangerous  blun- 
derers, i.e.  unconscious  enemies  to  society,  and  others 
cannot  secure  welfare  for  themselves,  and  cannot  be  helped 
without  doing  more  harm  than  good.  And  in  many  of 
these  situations^  a  tragic  choice  is  unavoidable.  Either 
injury  to  society  and  its  loyal  members  must  be  done  or 
allowed  instead  of  being  prevented,  or  else  injury  to  the 
immoral  or  incompetent  must  be  done  or  allowed.  In 
every  society  there  are  men  (and  animals)  whose  natures 
and  inclinations  are  such  that,  unless  restraint,  ranging  in 
different  cases  from  physical  violence  to  mild  disapproval, 
is  put  upon  them,  they  will  injure  the  society  and  their 
fellows  more  or  less  seriously.  And  of  course  the  prob- 
lem is  to  adjust  the  conflicting  interests  of  these  dangerous 
individuals  and  of  those  whose  welfare  they  threaten.  The 
problem  is  not  a  new  one,  nor  is  it  unfamiliar  to  us.  In 
considering  benevolence  and  justice  a  study  was  made  of 
the  best  solution  man  has  so  far  worked  out,  the  solution 
reached  by  the  wisest  nations,  who  have  considered  with 

*Not  in  all,  for  where  constraint  leads  to  reformation,  or  restrains  from 
wrong-doing,  it  may  be  of  benefit  to  all  concerned.  Cf.  Ch.  XII,  Internal 
Public  Enemies,  and  Ch.  XIII.  §§  8  and  9. 


WELFARE  405 

some  impartiality  the  interests  both  of  criminal  and  incom- 
petent enemies  of  society,  and  of  society  and  its  loyal  mem- 
bers. According  to  the  principles  worked  out,  as  much 
welfare  as  is  safe  is  left  to  the  anti-60cial,  and  as  much 
welfare  as  is  just  is  retained  by  society  and  its  loyal  mem- 
bers. The  present  schemes  of  benevolence  and  justice  are 
no  doubt  faulty,  call  for  improvement.,  and,  if  progress  con- 
tinues, will  be  improved.  Nevertheless,  for  reasons  before 
advanced,  they  offer  the  best  basis  on  which  to  build  up 
sound  ideas  of  how  to  serve  the  welfare  of  the  individuals 
making  up  any  nation.  To  be  sure  the  interests  of  all  indi- 
viduals are  not  equally  protected,  but  the  interests  of  each 
Are  justly  protected  and  furthered.  And  if  it  cannot  be  said 
with  full  accuracy  that  the  greatest  good  of  the  greatest 
number  is  sought,  it  can  be  said  that  the  aim  is  to  give 
and  allow  to  each  as  much  welfare  as  is  consistent  with 
securing  for  others  the  welfare  to  which  they  are  entitled. 
In  a  word,  from  the  point  of  view  of  national  welfare, 
and  in  so  far  as  individual  welfare  is  one  of  its  com- 
ponents, the  morally  supreme  end  is  to  give  to  each 
individual  for  whom  the  state  is  responsible  the  fullest 
jneasure  of  welfare  that  he  deserves  in  accordance  with 
the  principles  of  benevolence  and  justice. 

Hut  national  vitality  is  the  other  component  of  national 
welfare,  and  how  is  that  to  be  determined?  First,  it  will 
be  difficult,  and  it  is  not  necessary,  to  describe  separately 
the  national  characteristics  that  make  for  individual  wel- 
fare and  those  that  make  for  or  constitute  national  vitality, 
and  no  attempt  will  be  made  to  separate  them.  To  be 
sure,  individual  welfare  falls  largely  among  what  are  called 
the  personal  components  of  national  welfare  in  the  table, 
while  the  political,  social,  and  material  components  men- 
tioned in  the  table  belong  rather  under  the  head  of 
national  vitality,  but  this  is  only  roughly  true,  and  does 
not  constitute  anything  like  a  complete  seimration.  How, 
then,  is  national  welfare  to  be  determined  ?    On  the  same 


406  ETHICS 

general  plan,  it  may  be  answered,  as  was  adopted  in  deter- 
mining the  components  of  individual  welfare.  For  we 
can  best  determine  the  components  of  national  welfare 
by  discovering  what  things  men  and  nations  value  and 
put  forth  their  efforts  to  obtain,  retain,  and  increase.  And 
naturally  the  first  resort  is  to  the  criminal  law,  to  discover 
the  public  interests  that  states  put  forth  their  corporate 
power  to  protect.  What  these  public  interests  are  need 
not  be  repeated  here,  but  can  be  read  of  in  Chapter  XIII. 
And  then  we  turn  to  Chapter  XII  to  discover  what  social 
goods  men  have  voluntarily  associated  themselves  together 
to  procure  and  guard,  namely,  family,  cultural,  political, 
juristic,  economic,  and  benevolent  interests.  Finally,  na- 
tional budgets  are  very  helpful,  as  they  aid  in  pointing 
out  what  it  is  that  nations  support  out  of  their  revenues 
obtained  from  taxes  levied  on  the  people.^  And  here  it 
appears  that  expenditures  are  made  for  land  culture,  com- 
merce (internal  and  external),  public  works,  the  expenses 
of  legislation  and  administration,  the  diplomatic  and  con- 
sular establishments,  the  care  of  dependents  and  defec- 
tives, interest  payments  on  the  public  debt,  the  reward  of 
deserving  public  servants,  the  encouragement  of  investiga- 
tion and  the  keeping  of  scientific  records,  the  education 
of  the  people  (both  general  and  technical),  sanitation,  the 
support  and  encouragement  of  religion  and  fine  arts,  the 
department  of  posts  and  telegraphs,  the  military  establish- 
ment, and  the  criminal  and  civil  courts. 

And  now,  arranging  the  items  of  national  welfare  de- 
rived from  these  three  sources  under  the  four  heads  under 

^  The  list  of  objects  of  public  expenditure  is  taken  from  M.  F.  F.  Faure's 
Bugets  Contemporaina,  the  most  complete  and  conveniently  arranged  work 
with  which  I  am  acquainted  on  the  subject.  This  confines  us  to  the 
objects  of  public  expenditure  in  France,  but  there  is  in  fact  little  diver- 
gence in  other  countries,  and  if  anything  the  French  practice  is  the  best 
for  our  purposes,  as  the  paternalism  characteristic  of  that  country  leads 
to  public  support  in  some  directions  where  private  initiative  is  depended 
on  in  other  countries. 


WELFARE 


407 


which  they  naturally  group  themselves,  the  following  table 
is  the  result :  — 


TABLE  OF  COMPONENTS  OF  NATIONAL  WELFARE 


Independent  or  sovereign  government. 

Competent  and  trustworthy  officials. 

National  morality :  as  seen  in  the  payment  of  debts, 
in  respect  for  international  law  and  justice,  in  fairness 
to  criminals,  in  care  of  dependents  and  defectives,  etc. 

Military  power. 


Political 
Components. 


Social 
Components. 


Personal 
Components. 


Material 
Components. 


Wholesome  family  life. 

Cultural  activity:  in  science,  religion,  fine  arts. 

Political  activity  and  purity. 

Juristic  activity :  upholding  respect  for  law  and  its 
representatives,  and  consequent  prevalence  of  law, 
order,  and  justice  between  man  and  man. 

Economic  activity :  trade,  commerce,  business  energy 
and  skill. 

Benevolent  activity :  private  and  organized  charity 
(including  societies  to  protect  animals). 

Individual  welfare  of  men  and  animals  (including 
individual  morality) :  as  great  welfare  as  possible  for 
each  individual,  and  the  enjoyment  of  welfare  by  as 
many  individuals  as  possible. 

A  large  population. 

A  broad  and  varied  territory. 
Fertility  and  pro<luctivity  of  territory. 
Prosperous  and  effective  "  plant." 


Remarks  on  the  Table.  —  Most  of  the  remarks  that  were 
made  with  regard  to  the  table  of  individual  welfare  apply 
here  as  well.  No  single  component,  or  group  of  compo- 
nents short  of  the  whole,  insures  national  welfare.  But  the 
components  are  mutually  assistant  and  complementary,  and 
the  presence  of  certain  ones  among  them  is  an  all  but 
sufficient  guaranty  of  the  presence  of  the  others ;  with  all 
the  personal  components  present,  the  rest  are  all  but  cer- 


408  ETHICS 

tain  to  appear.  And,  of  course,  the  different  components 
have  different  values,  the  pei-sonal  being  unquestionably 
of  the  most  fundamental  importance.  National  welfare, 
again,  is  of  different  degrees,  and  a  nation  may  enjoy 
welfare,  though  not  of  a  high  order,  if  some  components  are 
all  but  completely  absent.  Finally,  the  great  difficulty,  in 
this  case  too,  is  in  determining  the  relative  amounts  of  the 
different  components  necessary  for  welfare.  And  the  rea- 
son is  the  same  as  before ;  insight  is  necessary  in  every 
concrete  case  and  at  every  stage  of  national  development, 
in  order  to  solve  the  problem.  And  all  that  a  descriptive 
table  can  do  is  to  suggest  the  nature  of  national  welfare ; 
it  can  in  no  way  give  an  exhaustive  account  of  it. 

Animal  Welfare. —  Attention  is  called  to  the  fact  that 
beneficence  to  animals  is  a  national  concern — rather  than 
an  international  or  human  concern.  It  is  within  states 
that  humane  societies  and  laws  exist,  both  those  that 
concern  themselves  with  protecting  domestic  animals  and 
those  that  are  concerned  with  the  protection  of  wild  animals. 

§  3.     Human  and  Sentient  Welfare 

Twenty-six  nations  signed  the  articles  drawn  up  at  The 
Hague  conference,  and  these  included  all  of  the  first-class 
and  most  of  the  second-class  powers.  In  addition  there 
are  some  other  second-class  powers,  some  third-class  pow- 
ers, and  an  indefinite  number  of  barbarous  states  and  sav- 
age tribes.  Sentient  welfare  consists  of  the  welfare  of 
these  sovereign  societies,  including,  of  course,  the  welfare 
of  their  members,  as  before  described.  At  least  it  consists 
of  their  welfare  in  much  the  same  sense  and  under  prac- 
tically the  same  limitations  as  were  brought  out  in  showing 
that  national  welfare  included  the  welfare  of  the  members 
of  the  nation.  The  interests  of  states  conflict,  and  inter- 
national justice  is  called  upon  to  decide  what  advantages 
each  state  shall  forego  and  what  advantages  each  shall 
secure.     Moreover,  some  states  in  some  of  their  activities 


WELFARE  409 

and  characteristics  are  injurious  to  humanity  and  to  sentient 
beings  as  a  whole,  and  the  conflicting  interests  of  injurious 
states  and  of  those  they  threaten  must  be  adjusted.  All 
this  calls  for  constraint,  and  not  infrequently  for  diminu- 
tion of  the  welfare,  now  of  one  state,  again  of  another. 

But,  aside  from  international  law,  the  problem  of  inter- 
national justice  has  not  been  worked  out,  and  beyond  what 
has  been  said  in  Chapter  XII  nothing  of  scientific  value 
can  be  added  here.  At  present  the  situation  is  practically 
this :  there  is  a  struggle  for  existence  among  states,  as 
such,  and,  if  it  continues,  the  result  will  be  the  survival 
of  the  most  vital ;  but  the  struggle  is  different  from  that 
which  prevails  among  animals,  inasmuch  as  international 
law  so  regulates  the  conflicts  that  the  suffering  and  harm 
that  falls  to  individuals  is  minimized. 

In  view  of  our  present  ignorance  all  that  can  be  said  is, 
that  human  and  sentient  welfare  consists  of  the  quantity 
and  kind  of  welfare  for  each  state  that  the  principles  of 
international  benevolence  and  justice  call  for.  And,  bear- 
ing in  mind  what  individual  and  national  welfare  consist 
of,  sentient  welfare  so  defined  is  the  supreme  or  ultimate 
moral  end. 


CONCLUSION 


CHAPTER  XVI 

The  Nature  and  Value  of  Morality 

Part  I  investigated  conscience  as  a  natural  phenomenon, 
and  Part  II  has  been  busied  with  framing  as  full  and 
accurate  a  conception  as  possible  of  perfect  morality.  Both 
tasks  are  now  complete,  so  far  as  possible  here,  and  it  now 
remains  to  gather  in  mind  all  that  has  been  said,  and  to 
set  down  the  result  in  compact  form,  in  order  that  morality 
may  be  viewed  and  estimated  as  a  whole.  For  there  are 
two  main  questions  which  Ethics  has  to  answer  as  well  as 
it  can  :  (1)  What  is  morality  ?  (2)  What  is  the  value  of 
morality?  These  questions  must  now  be  taken  up  in 
turn.^ 

§  1.    What  Morality  is 

Ideal  Morality  or  Perfection.  —  Perfect  morality  was 
described  in  Part  II,  and  calls  for  little  additional  com- 
ment here.  That  man  is  perfectly  moral  who  is  brave, 
temperate,  benevolent,  just,  and  wise,  or,  in  other  words, 
who  is  so  constituted,  as  to  act  for  the  best  interests  or 
for  the  welfare  of  all  sentient  beings. 

And  it  is  not  difficult  to  imagine  a  picture  of  a  perfect 
society,  say  of  an  angelic  society,  made  up  of  perfectly 
moral  beings.  Being  perfect,  each  angel  would  do  the 
least  positive  harm  possible  to  other  angels;  no  angel 
would  wrong  any  other  or  the  community  of  angels  ;  each 

1  The  second  question  was  not  mentioned  in  Chapter  I  in  order  to 
avoid  confusion. 

413 


414  ETHICS 

would  rendet  efficiently  the  services  due  to  others  and  to 
the  community  ;  and  there  would  be  no  need  of  dealing  in 
any  way  with  public  and  private  wrong-doers,  for  those 
classes  would  not  exist.  In  short,  the  society  would  be 
made  up  of  perfectly  and  smoothly  cooperating  individu- 
als, and  the  welfare  attained  by  each  individual  would  be 
the  greatest  possible  in  view  of  the  existing  impersonal 
and  environmental  conditions,  as  distinguished  from  the 
characters  of  the  members  of  society. 

But  in  human  societies  all  individuals  fall  short,  and 
most  individuals  fall  considerably  short,  of  perfection. 
This  would  not  prevent  any  happily  constituted  individual 
who  happened  to  be  born  into  a  human  society  from  acting 
with  perfect  morality.  But  it  does  destroy  the  perfection 
and  smoothness  of  cooperation  in  service  of  all,  partly 
because  some  men  have  not  the  ability  and  opportunity  to 
secure  welfare,  and  partly  because  all  individuals  are  and 
must  be  somewhat  restrained,  and  some  individuals  are  and 
must  be  positively  injured,  in  the  interest  of  ministering 
to  the  common  welfare ;  in  a  society  with  imperfect  mem- 
bers the  classes  of  the  inefficient  and  of  the  wrong-doers 
appear. 

In  human  societies  moral  perfection  for  individuals  is 
possible,  though  non-existent,  but  the  highest  moral  ideal 
of  perfect  and  smooth  social  cooperation  in  the  interest  of 
the  greatest  attainable  welfare  for  each  individual  and  all 
individuals  is  impossible  of  achievement. 

Before  leaving  this  point  it  may  be  convenient  to  state 
compactly  the  ideal  that  objective  morality  sets  before  each 
human  being.  Since  men  follow  conscience  and  brutes  do 
not,  the  simplest  injunction  takes  the  form.  Be  a  man  and 
not  a  brute.  Since  men  with  civilized  consciences  coura- 
geously and  temperately  hold  to  mercy  and  abstain  from 
wrong-doing,  while  savages  are  cruel  and  lawless,  the 
second  injunction  reads.  Be  a  civilized  man  and  not  a 
savage.     And  since  each  man  with  a  civilized  conscience 


THE  NATURE  AND  VALUE  OF  MOR^VLITY  415 

gives  his  fellows  their  due,  concretely  fulfilling  the  duties 
of  every  relationship  in  which  his  abilities  and  opportuni- 
ties place  him,  the  third  injunction  is,  Be  true  to  yourself 
and  your  opportunities.  As  a  man  deviates  farther  and 
farther  from  objective  moi-ality,  he  becomes,  first  untrue  to 
himself,  then  a  savage,  and  finally  an  animal. 

Practical  Morality  or  Duty.  —  But  what  does  morality 
demand  of  imperfectly  virtuous  individuals  ?  The  answer 
to  that  question  is  embodied  in  the  doctrine  of  practical 
morality  or  duty,  which  points  out  to  the  imperfectly 
virtuous  man  what  he  is  morally  called  upon  to  do. 

Of  course,  if  at  any  time  a  man  is  not  wise  and  just,  — 
justice,  remember,  as  here  used  is  a  virtue  of  the  intellect, 
—  if  he  does  not  know  fully  and  concretely  what  sentient 
welfare  is,  if  he  does  not  so  much  as  know  that  sentient 
welfare  is  the  supreme  end,  and  if  he  does  not  know  how 
to  serve  the  supreme  end,  he  should  not  be  called  upon 
for  perfect  moral  knowledge  and  service  at  that  time. 

And  if  a  man  is  unbenevolent,  if  at  any  time  he  has 
unsocial  or  anti-social  impulses  and  inclinations,  it  is  not 
right  or  sensible  to  demand  that  he  should  not  have  those 
impulses  and  inclinations  at  that  time. 

And  if  a  man  is  not  brave  and  temperate,  if  his  will  is 
not  strong  enough  to  control  his  aversions  and  desires,  he 
cannot  rightly  or  logically  be  called  upon  to  have  a  stronger 
will  then  and  there. 

Nor  can  a  man  wisely  and  justly  be  called  upon  to  put 
forth  all  the  will-power  he  can  command  to  constrain  his 
actions  to  morality,  in  spite  of  his  rebellious  impulses  and 
inclinations.  Not  wisely,  because  such  extreme  self-com- 
pulsion is  damaging  to  the  spontaneous  efficiency  of  charac- 
ter. Not  justly,  because  a  man  should  not  be  called  upon 
for  more  than  his  proportionate  share  of  self-restraint  and 
self-constraint.  A  man  should  do  his  whole  duty,  but  he 
can  do  more  than  his  dut}',  though  to  advise  him  to  do 
more  is  a  "  counsel  of  perfection,"  and  if  he  follows  the 


416  ETHICS 

counsel,  he  is  entitled  to  the  exceptional  rewards  ^  due 
heroic  action.  A  man  is  called  upon  to  put  forth  his 
proportionate  amount  of  will-power,  but  to  demand  more  is 
to  be  unjust. 

In  short,  a  man  is  not  called  upon  at  any  time  to  be 
wiser,  juster,  more  benevolent,  or  stronger  of  will  than  he 
is ;  but  he  is  called  upon  for  his  proportionate  self -restrain- 
ing and  self-constrained  loyalty  to  his  best  insight. 

So  far  the  description  of  the  demands  of  duty  goes  little 
further  than  the  account  given  of  subjective  morality  in 
Chapter  III,  for  it  merely  says  that  each  individual  should 
follow  his  best  insight,  with  further  specification  of  the 
pressure  he  should  put  upon  himself  to  be  loyal  to  his  best 
insight.  But  if  the  account  of  objective  morality  given  in 
Part  II  is  sound,  and  is  understood,  an  improvement  in 
insight  and  therefore  a  higher  range  of  duty  is  made 
possible. 

Besides,  the  account  of  justice  suggests  a  further  stretch 
of  duty,  with  which  all  are  to  some  extent  familiar,  and 
which  is  of  no  little  importance.  For  in  so  far  as  the 
individual  fails  of  objective  morality,  he  positively  and 
negatively  wrongs  his  fellows  and  manifests  a  character 
that  embodies  the  danger  of  further  wrong-doing,  and  then 
the  duties  which  arise  in  the  presence  of  imperfect  moral 
character  and  conduct  make  their  appearance.  It  accord- 
ingly is  the  duty  of  imperfectly  moral  men,  not  only  to 
repair  the  wrong  they  do,  but  to  protect  society  against 
themselves,  both  by  putting  themselves  as  far  as  possible 
out  of  the  way  of  further  wrong-doing,  and  by  reforming 
themselves  as  fully  and  as  quickly  as  possible.  It  has 
already  been  pointed  out  that  none  of  these  three  second- 

1  It  is  to  be  regretted  that  it  has  not  been  possible  to  discuss  rewards  as 
punishments  have  been  discussed.  Such  a  discussion  would  throw  not  a 
little  light  on  the  nature  of  morality.  It  is  a  more  difficult  problem  than 
that  of  punishments,  because  society  distributes  rewards  without  any 
orderly,  systematic,  or  conscious  plan. 


THE  NATURE  AND  VALUE  OF  MORALITT     417 

ary  duties,  as  they  are  called,  is  easy  of  fulfilment.  This 
is  especially  true  of  reparation  and  of  putting  one's  self  out 
of  the  way  of  further  wrong-doing,  the  latter  because  a  man 
must  do  his  work  where  he  finds  it,  and  the  presumption 
is  against  the  neglect  of  primary  in  the  interest  of  secondary 
duties.  And  as  to  the  duty  of  self-reformation,  profoundly 
difficult  as  that  is,  it  is  not  in  practice  as  much  of  an 
addition  to  the  primary  duties  as  might  at  first  sight  appear. 
For  morality  is  a  matter  of  character,  and  on  the  whole 
the  most  effective  way  of  improving  character  is  to  make 
the  best  discernment  possible  of  duty  in  each  concrete  case 
us  it  arises,  and  then  to  do  the  duty  discerned,  thus  by  prac- 
tice working  naturally  into  the  way  of  juster  and  wiser 
conduct.  No  doubt  something  can  be  done  by  improving 
the  theoretical  understanding  of  duty,  but  moral  character 
is  probably  more  healthily  built  up  by  the  practice  of 
conscientiously  seeking  and  following  the  best  attainable 
insight  in  each  case.  Perfectionists  are  substantially 
right  in  declaring  that  duty  consists  in  following  conscience 
and  in  improving  conscience  as  much  as  possible.*  But  when 
improvement  of  conscience  and  self-improvement  gener- 
ally is  unduly  stressed,  a  man  is  likely  to  disorganize  his 
character,  and  is  sure  to  give  himself  over  to  that  spirit- 
ual selfishness  which  leads  him  to  value  his  own  virtue 
above  the  common  welfare. 

Duty,  practical  morality,  then  consists  in  following  one's 
conscience  with  one's  full  share  of  self-control,  including 
the  making  of  reparation,  protecting  society,  and  reforma- 
tion of  self.  But  full  reparation  cannot  often  be  made; 
taking  a  firmer  hold  on  one's  self  is  generally  a  more  eflfec- 
tive  protection  for  society  than  the  abandonment  of  pri- 
mary duties,  and  doing  duty  is  on  the  whole  the  best 
way  of  learning  duty. 

iPeriectionists  have  a  doctrine  of  duty  aa  well  a«  a  doctrine  of  the  end. 
Here  the  former  doctrine  is  in  mind,  while  in  earlier  chaptera  the  latter  was 
considered. 

2b 


418  ETHICS 

§  2.     Why  enforce  Morality  ? 

The  question  of  this  section  naturally  breaks  up  inta 
two  questions,  and  each  of  these  in  turn  into  two  further 
questions.  For  the  main  question  means,  Why  enforce 
morality  on  others  ?  and  also,  Why  enforce  morality  on 
oneself  ?  And  each  of  these  questions  may  be  interpreted 
to  mean,  Why  should  or  ought  morality  to  be  enforced? 
and,  What  profit,  gain,  or  interest  is  there  in  enforcing 
morality  ?  The  questions  before  us  accordingly  are,  Why 
ought  men  to  enforce  morality  on  their  fellows?  Why 
ought  any  man  to  hold  himself  to  morality  ?  What  interest 
have  men  in  the  morality  of  their  fellows  ?  and.  What 
interest  has  any  man  in  his  own  morality  ?  The  first  two 
questions  raise  the  same  issues,  and  need  not  be  considered 
separately.  The  last  two  are  distinct,  and  call  for  separate 
treatment.  With  the  answers  to  these  questions  the  book 
will  close. 

Why  ought  Morality  to  he  enforced  on  Self  and  Others? 
—  This  question  is  explicitly  stated  in  order  that  its 
absurdity  may  be  fully  grasped.  Morality  consists  in  con- 
straining oneself  to  duty,  and  in  part  in  encouraging  and 
upholding  others  in  dutiful  conduct,  including  the  visiting 
of  punishment,  in  the  widest  sense  of  the  word,  on  oneself 
and  on  others  when  undutiful.  Or,  in  other  words,  men 
ought,  among  other  things,  to  enforce  morality  on  them- 
selves and  on  others.  So  the  question  asked  amounts  to 
this.  Why  ought  men  to  do  what  they  ought  to  do  ?  a 
question  that  needs  no  answer. 

Now  as  regards  the  obligation  of  constraining  oneself  to 
practical  morality,  the  consideration  just  advanced  is  con- 
clusive. One's  duty  is  to  do  one's  duty:  that  is  axiomatic. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  question  as  to  enforcing  morality 
on  others  may  mean.  What  evidence  is  there  to  show  that 
men  should  enforce  morality  on  their  fellows,  and  to  show 
how  far  the  duty,  if  it  exists,  extends  ?     That  question  is^ 


THE  NATURE  AND  VALUE  OF  MORALITY     419 

sensible  and  legitimate,  and  deserves  an  answer.  But  all 
that  can  here  be  said  upon  it  has  been  said  in  Chapters 
XII  and  XIII. 

Of  course,  any  individual  may  legitimately  ask  in  any 
particular  contingency,  not,  Why  should  I  do  my  duty  ? 
but.  How  do  I  know  this  is  my  duty?  But  here  again 
all  has  already  been  said  that  there  is  space  for. 

What  Interest  have  Men  in  the  Morality  of  their  Fellows  f 
—  This  question  is  not  diflficult  to  answer.  Assuming  for 
the  present  —  though  the  assumption  is  by  no  means  well 
founded  —  that  each  individual  would  find  profit  in  immo- 
rality sufficiently  skilful  to  escape  most  of  the  penalties 
of  wrong-doing,  the  greatest  possible  morality  of  the  bulk 
of  his  fellows  would  still  be  to  his  interest.  Were  it 
not  for  the  morality  of  primitive  men,  no  man  would 
now  be  in  existence.  Were  it  not  for  the  improving  mo- 
rality of  our  savage  and  barbarous  ancestors,  including 
occasional  acts  of  profound  wisdom  and  heroic  self-sacrifice, 
no  man  would  be  given  the  advantages  of  civilization  to 
enjoy.  Were  it  not  for  the  continued  morality  of  a  high 
order  of  the  bulk  of  our  contemporaries,  the  truly  won- 
derful benefits  of  civilization  would  in  part  perish  from 
neglect,  and  in  part  be  destroyed  in  lawlessness,  disorder, 
and  violence.  All  security  would  disappear,  all  peace 
would  vanish,  all  material  comforts  and  prosperity  would 
crumble  away,  and  all  intellectual  and  spiritual  treasures 
would  be  destroyed.  And  their  places  would  be  taken  by 
insecurity,  ruin,  havoc,  destruction,  and  the  rude,  violent, 
unbridled  passions  of  men  who  had  forsaken  humanity 
and  taken  to  brutality,  a  brutality  worse  than  that  of  the 
brutes,  because  guided  by  perverted  intelligence.  Of 
course  the  deflection  from  morality  might  not  be  so 
extreme,  but  any  considerable  lowering  of  moral  standards 
would  work  its  proportionate  amount  of  disaster. 

It  is  no  exaggeration  to  say,  that  of  all  of  society's  pos- 
sessions, that  of  greatest  value  to  the  individual  is  the 


420  ETHICS 

maintenance  and  improvement  of  the  morality  of  the  bulk 
of  his  fellows.  That  is  the  foundation  upon  which  the 
welfare  of  all  individuals  rests.  Here  duty  and  interest 
join  hands,  and  urge  all  to  uphold  and  improve  the  moral- 
ity of  the  community. 

What  Interest  has  Man  in  his  Oivn  Morality?  —  This  is 
a  question  of  more  than  ordinary  difficulty  and  complexity, 
and  while  an  answer  will  be  attempted,  it  is  offered  in 
a  tentative  spirit,  as  a  contribution  to  the  solution  of  the 
question  rather  than  as  a  complete  solution.  The  answer 
to  the  question  would  seem  to  vary  with  two  factors,  (1) 
the  approximation  to  perfection  of  the  morality  that  obtains 
in  any  community,  and  (2)  the  character  of  the  individual 
in  each  case. 

(1)  Every  actual  and  every  humanly  conceivable  sys- 
tem of  morality  is  imperfect.  No  outline  scheme,  and  no 
application  of  any  scheme,  can  be  faultless.  Now  if  the 
question  before  us  were  merely  theoretical,  this  fact 
would  be  relatively  unimportant,  for  the  question  of  the 
interest  of  the  individual  in  his  own  morality  under  a  per- 
fect system  of  morality  would  be  up  for  consideration,  and 
as  there  is  only  one  perfect  system,  the  consideration  of 
relative  perfection  would  be  out  of  place,  except  in  so  far 
as  the  system  was  not  actually  put  into  practice.  But 
the  question  before  us  is  practical.  We  want  to  know 
whether  it  is  to  the  interest  of  a  man  to  be  moral,  in  the 
sense  in  which  morality  is  understood  by  the  representative 
opinion  and  practice  of  his  day  and  country.  This  is  not  a 
perfectly  sharp  question,  and  cannot  be  sharply  answered,  but 
it  certainly  involves  the  relative  perfection  of  moral  systems. 

When  the  problem  is  thus  practically  conceived,  morality 
is  the  system  of  conduct  approved  of  in  any  community  as 
most  conducive  to  the  common  good,  and  the  question  is, 
whether  it  is  to  the  interest  of  the  individual  to  accord  his 
action  to  this  scheme  in  each  case.  Now  observe  that  such 
schemes  vary  from  great  rigidity  to   the  utmost  laxity. 


THE  NATURE  AND  VALUE  OF  MORALITY     421 

Some  schemes  are  devised  with  sternly  intent  gaze  on  the 
ultimate  goal,  the  common  good,  and  are  so  nervously 
fearful  of  any  danger  thereto  that  individuals  with  quali- 
ties of  dangerous  omen  are  ruthlessly  restrained,  with 
little  regard  to  their  private  interests.  In  other  schemes 
the  common  good  is  distributively  rather  than  collectively 
conceived,  and  there  is  a  tender,  even  a  sentimental  con- 
cern for  each  and  every  individual,  and  only  when  an 
individual  is  actually  veiy  injurious  is  restraint  put  upon 
him.  In  schemes  of  the  first  type  the  element  of  collective 
vitality,  in  schemes  of  the  second  type  the  element  of 
individual  welfare,  is  chiefly  considered.  And  of  course, 
when  tlie  prevalent  and  accepted  morality  leans  towards 
the  second  type,  the  individual's  interests  are  much  more 
likely  to  coincide  with  morality,  than  when  the  morality 
accepted  and  recognized  is  of  the  first  type. 

Again,  the  schemes  of  morality  devised  present  all  de- 
grees and  kinds  of  intelligence  and  unintelligence,  aside 
from  whether  they  are  rigid  or  loose.  Restrictions  may 
be  imposed  with  a  view  to  the  common  good  which  do  not 
in  fact  conduce  to  that  end,  or  which  unduly  or  unneces- 
sarily and  unintelligently  sacrifice  individuals,  when  the 
end  could  be  served  equally  well  without  such  sacrifice. 
Imperfections  of  all  kinds  in  alien  moral  systems  are  easily 
detected,  but  reasonably  fortunate  individuals  are  not  easily 
awakened  to  consciousness  of  imperfections  in  the  moml 
systems  in  which  they  have  been  brought  up  and  under 
which  they  live,  especially  when  these  imperfections  de- 
mand unnecessary  sacrifice  of  other  classes  rather  than 
of  the  class  to  which  they  belong.  Were  the  views  of 
women  in  China  more  influential  in  the  formation  of  moral 
opinion,  it  is  not  likely  that  Chinese  ladies  would  long  be 
required  to  torture  their  feet  in  obedience  to  moral  demand, 
for  that  demand  is  a  moral  demand  among  the  Chinese. 
And  the  same  is  true  of  many  other  demands  of  a  more 
serious  character,  even  iu  civilized  countries. 


422  ETHICS 

These  suggestions  will  sufficiently  indicate  that  it  may 
not  be  to  the  interest  of  the  individual  to  be  moral  accord- 
ing to  the  prevalent  conception  of  morality  of  his  day  and 
country.  Moreover,  they  indicate  that  there  are  items  in 
every  human  moral  system  which  demand  of  individuals 
actions  that  it  is  not  to  the  latter's  interest  to  perform. 
Finally,  they  suggest  that,  roughly  speaking,  in  proportion 
to  the  imperfection  of  moral  systems  the  duties  of  individ- 
uals and  their  interests  are  likely  to  diverge.  This  must 
be  true.  For  the  aim  of  morality  is  to  serve  the  interests 
of  all,  and  the  more  imperfect  the  morality,  the  fewer  the 
individuals  whose  interests  are  served,  and  the  less  effi- 
ciently, on  the  whole,  each  man's  interests  are  served.  The 
closest  possible  approximation  to  a  coincidence  between 
each  man's  duty  and  his  interest  will  be  attained  when  a 
perfect  morality  is  conceived  and  perfectly  applied.  Mean- 
time the  coincidence  is  only  approximate,  though  in  the 
case  of  civilized  systems  of  morality  a  very  good  approxi- 
mation for  most  men. 

(2)  Again,  the  character  of  the  individual  is  a  factor 
that  must  be  considered  before  it  is  possible  to  determine 
whether  it  is  to  an  individual's  interest  to  do  his  duty. 

Limiting  inquiry  to  modern  civilized  societies,  in  which 
we  are  most  interested,  it  is  plainly  to  the  interest  of  the 
men  who  approximate  most  closely  to  virtue  to  do  their 
full  duty.  Their  inclinations,  by  themselves  and  without 
aid  from  the  will,  impel  to  conduct  that  falls  little  short 
of  being  dutiful.  The  rewards  society  attaches  to  dutiful 
conduct,  and  the  penalties  it  attaches  to  undutiful  conduct, 
easily  render  duty  the  prudent  choice.  Finally,  personal 
morality  has  an  intrinsic  value  as  an  important  element  of 
welfare,  and  sacrifices  very  much  greater  than  have  to  be 
made  would  therein  find  ample  compensation. 

And  more  is  true.  There  is  little  doubt  but  that  it  is  to 
the  interest  of  the  bulk  of  the  citizens  of  modern  civilized 
nations  to  do  their  full  duty.    The  proportionate  amount  of 


THE  NATURE  AND  VALUE  OF  MORALITY     428 

effort  they  would  have  to  put  forth  in  order  to  do  their 
duty  would  not  be  so  excessive  as  to  counterbalance  the 
rewards  of  dutiful  conduct,  and  certainly  not  so  excessive 
as  to  counterbalance  these  rewards  together  with  the  contri- 
bution to  their  welfare  that  dutif  ulness  on  their  part  would 
secure.  If  these  men  act  like  savages  or  barbarians,  society 
rightly  treats  them  as  such,  and  such  treatment  ia  injurious 
to  them.  Moreover,  to  choose  to  be  a  barbarian,  a  savage, 
even  more,  to  choose  to  be  an  animal,  when  one  can  by 
wholesome  effort  make  a  civilized  man  of  one's  self,  is  to 
make  at  once  an  unworthy  and  an  imprudent  choice.  Ani- 
mals, savages,  and  barbarians  know  no  better,  and  are 
condemned  to  remain  animals,  savages,  and  barbarians; 
moreover,  not  knowing  any  better,  their  loss  is  not  made 
greater  by  being  a  conscious  loss.  But  most  men  in  mod- 
ern civilized  societies  do  know  better,  and  if  they  condemn 
themselves  to  animal  or  uncivilized  lives,  they  are  self- 
degraded,  and  have  the  intolerable  sense  of  self-degrada- 
tion. Finally,  animals,  savages,  and  barbarians  have  not 
reaped  and  enjoyed  the  benefits  of  civilization,  and  their 
failure  to  make  return  to  society  for  the  benefits  of  civili- 
zation is  not,  as  it  is  in  the  case  of  most  civilized  men,  an 
ingratitude  intensifying  self-degradation.  From  any  point 
of  view  from  which  the  question  is  considered,  it  is  to  the 
interest  of  the  bulk  of  reasonably  fortunate  civilized  men 
to  do  their  full  duty,  instead  of  engaging  in  unworthy  hag- 
gling to  escape  full  payment  of  their  moral  debt. 

But  there  are  men  in  civilized  communities  with  regard 
to  whom  we  are  reluctantly  compelled  to  answer  the  ques- 
tion negatively.  Fate  has  not  been  kind  to  them.  Civil- 
ized conditions  are  of  relatively  little  advantage  to  them ; 
bom  in  civilized  communities,  the  hardness,  the  lawless- 
ness, the  brutality  of  barbarous  or  even  of  savage  life 
would  be  more  congenial  to  them,  and  would  offer  s 
more  fitting  environment  for  the  play  of  their  powers  and 
the  attainment  of  welfare.     Inheriting  a  debased  tempera- 


424  ETHICS 

ment,  surrounded  by  conditions  that  develop  au  uncivil- 
ized character,  the  impulses  and  inclinations  of  a  man  of 
the  type  under  consideration  are  anti-social  in  a  civilized 
community.  Moreover,  the  relatively  high  morality  he 
bees  about  him  makes  no  appeal  to  him ;  he  does  not  feel 
it  to  be  high,  he  rather  feels  it  to  be  weak,  foolish,  lack- 
ing in  virile  self-assertion.  ^  And  therefore  there  is  at 
once  little  inner  incentive  in  such  a  man  to  make  the  great 
effort  needed  in  order  to  compass  morality,  and  there  is 
little  hope  that  sufficient  effort  could  be  put  forth  with 
sufficient  intelligence  to  insure  moral  conduct. 

Failure  to  make  return  to  society  for  the  benefits  of 
civilization  is  not  ingratitude  in  such  a  man,  for  civiliza- 
tion does  not  benefit  as  much  as  it  restrains  him.  Failure 
to  exercise  will-power,  heroic  will-power  to  constrain  him- 
self to  morality,  is  not  self-degradation,  for  he  is  already 
a  barbarian,  a  savage,  an  animal.  Failure  to  seek  morality 
as  an  end  is  not,  humanly  speaking,  an  imprudence,  for 
morality  does  not  and  cannot  be  expected  to  appeal  to 
him  as  a  good,  until  he  is  truly  regenerated.  The  only 
pressure  that  can  impel,  or  that  can  be  expected  to 
impel  him  towards  morality,  or  rather  the  outward  observ- 
ance of  morality,  is  the  pressure  of  pain,  disadvantage,  and 
restraint,  present  and  prospective.  Driven  by  tragic  neces- 
sity, society  imposes  penalties  upon  unfortunate  men  of 
this  type,  who  are  so  sadly  out  of  place,  and  the  fear  of 
these  penalties  may  restrain  them  from  outward  wrong- 
doing, though  it  can  seldom  constrain  them  to  the 
morality  of  inner  good  purposes.  Dutiful  conduct  mis- 
fits their  character  too  painfully  to  be  advantageous  in 
and  by  itself.  But  society  by  penalizing  wrong-doing 
may  present  to  them  a  choice  of  evils,  the  lesser  of  which 
is  conformity  to  rudimentary  and  external  morality. 

Accordingly,  some  individuals  are   like   tigers   or  ser- 

*  With  regard  to  such  men  Fr.  Nietzsche's  point  of  view  is,  I  think,  well' 
justified. 


THE  NATURE  AND  VALUE  OF  MORALITY     425 

pents  in  human  form,  like  Bushmen  in  civilized  garb,  like 
Vandals  of  civilized  appearance.  For  what  purpose  they 
have  been  put  among  us,  we  can  but  dimly  surmise.  Pos- 
sibly a  more  ingenious,  a  wiser,  a  profounder  morality 
would  do  away  with  this  unfortunate  class  entirely.  Pos- 
sibly we  should  look  upon  the  presence  and  menace  of 
members  of  the  class,  and  they  upon  our  presence  and 
restraint,  as  storms,  pestilences,  and  other  calamities  of 
nature  are  looked  upon  by  the  wise.  Or  possibly  —  prob- 
ably let  us  hope  —  a  wiser  raetaphysic  and  religion  of 
the  future  will  find  the  significance  of  this  deepest  of 
moral  tragedies,  which  ethical  science  can  indeed  discern, 
but  cannot  hope  to  understand  or  explain. 


INDEX 


Action,  the  nniversal  element  in,  81. 

Actions,  their  relations  to  agents,  35 ; 
for  duty's  sake,  imperfectly  moral, 
51;  for  duty's  sake,  not  the  only 
moral  actions,  51 ;  automatic  and 
reflex,  57;  ideo-motor,  67;  deliber- 
ate, 58;  voluntary,  described,  59; 
the  essence  of  consists  in  effort  and 
consent,  in  control,  59 ;  the  influence 
of  emotions  in,  60.  See  Volition  and 
Will. 

Advocates,  trained,  their  service  to 
justice,  307. 

Agency,  the  origin  of,  108;  birth  of, 
in  the  child  briefly  described,  113. 

Agents,  their  relations  to  actions,  35. 

Agreements,  as  the  basis  of  duties  of 
benefaction,  347 ;  genuine,  the  char- 
acteristics of,  capacity,  mutual  un- 
der^anding,  consent,  348;  tacit 
consent,  350;  coercion  as  affecting, 
351 ;  misrepresentation  as  affecting, 
352 ;  failure  to  disclose  material  facts 
as  affecting,  353;  contrary  to  posi- 
tive law,  to  decency  and  morals,  to 
public  policy,  354 ;  impossible  to  ful- 
fil, 355 ;  onerous,  346. 

Alexander,  S.,  96. 

Anglo-Saxon  races  make  mnch  of 
preference,  94. 

Appetite,  what,  222;  the  strength  of, 
as  stronger  than  at  present  needed, 
223 ;  for  intoxicants  and  the  advan- 
tage of  heightened  consciousness, 
225;  food  and  drink,  forces  that 
favour,  226;  summary  mention  of 
these  forces,  230 ;  forces  that  favour 
control  of  the  food  and  drink  appe- 
tites, 230 ;  demand  for  regulation  of, 
the  strongest  demand  that  conscience 
makes,  233;  summary  mention  of 
the  forces  that  favour  control,  236; 
the  reproductive,  regulation  of,  238. 

Approval  and  disapproval,  their  felt 
objectivity,  79;  compared  with  be- 
lief and  disbelief,  80. 


Aquinas,  203. 

Aristotle,  xi,  190,  242,  398,  401. 

Arnold,  Matthew,  92. 

Art,  possible  only  for  beings  endowed 

with  a  will,  153. 
Association,  biological  importance  of, 

153;  chief  resource  for  survival  of 

gregarious  animals,  154. 
Associations,  classification  of,  292. 
Axenfeld  and  Huchard,  24. 

B 

Baldwin,  J.  M.,  96,  110,  HI,  114, 116, 
118,  121,  143. 

Balfour,  A.  J.,  viii. 

Benefaction,  duties  of,  as  based  on 
agreement,  347 ;  as  based  on  prom- 
ises, 357  ;  as  based  on  personal  and 
other  relations,  358. 

Benevolence,  a  by-product  of  human 
evolution,  178;  its  relation  to  cour- 
age and  temperance,  204;  general 
idea  of,  267;  includes  hostile  feel- 
ings, 267 ;  as  including  friendly  feel- 
ing towards  foreign  enemies,  277;  to 
domestic  enemies,  what,  283;  as 
special  good-will  towards  those  who 
have  performed  special  services,  299 ; 
as  special  good-will  towards  those  in 
special  need,  300.  See  Hostile  Feel- 
ing, Friendly  Feeling,  and  Inter- 
national Law. 

Benevolent  man,  the,  general  descriiH 
tion  of,  294 ;  special  good-will  in,  29S; 
family  feeling  of,  21k5 ;  friendship  of, 
2{I0;  devotion  to  organizations  of, 
296 ;  neighbourliness  of,  296 ;  grati- 
tude of,  296 ;  pity  of,  296 ;  conditions 
justifying  his  speoial  good -will, 
297. 

Blarkstone,  280. 

Broadmindedness,  as  an  element  of 
wisdom,  :)75. 

Buddha,  203. 

Buddhism,  287. 

Burgerlichea  Ottetxbuch,  335. 

Butler,  J.,  190. 


427 


428 


INDEX 


Caprice,  decides  many  voluntary  ac- 
tions, 93. 

Cardinal  virtues,  84,  201;  Plato's  list 
of,  202. 

Caution,  as  an  element  of  wisdom,  376. 

Character,  more  valuable  than  pleas- 
ure, 389;  its  intrinsic  value,  393; 
the  value  of  a  perfect,  39i;  a  com- 
ponent of  welfare,  393.  See  Conduct 
and  Temperament. 

Charity,  and  the  law,  323 ;  and  justice, 
370;  and  individual  welfare,  371. 

Chastity,  248. 

China,  its  war  with  Japan,  289. 

Christ,  203,  286. 

Christianity,  287. 

Cicero,  321. 

Civil  law,  extent  of  its  principles,  x; 
its  spread,  306;  and  common  law, 
what  courts  developed,  315. 

Clifford,  C.  K.,  xi,  131, 133. 

Coercion,  as  affecting  the  validity  of 
agreements,  351. 

Commandment,  the  first  and  great,  96. 

Common  law,  extent  of  its  principles, 
x;  its  spread,"  306;  and  civil  law, 
what  courts  developed,  315. 

Conduct.    iSee  Conscience. 

Confucianism,  287. 

Confucius,  203. 

Contracts.    See  Agreements. 

Conscience,  value  of  knowledge  of ,  12 ; 
action  contrary  to,  always  wrong  for 
agent,  53 ;  only  disapproval  of  one's 
past  actions  according  to  J.  S.  Mac- 
kenzie, 55;  meaning  of  term,  55; 
its  emotional  components,  75,  76,  78, 
80;  divisions  of,  74;  what  its  emo- 
tional components  indicate,  77,  80; 
its  native  power  embodied  in  respon- 
sibility, obligation,  and  free  per- 
formance, 78 ;  as  intellect,  81 ;  as 
emotion  waits  on  conscience  as  in- 
tellect, 82 ;  false  identification  with 
obligation,  remorse,  etc.,  90;  con- 
duct its  psychic  cause,  95 ;  and  self- 
respect,  100;  how  it  supervises 
conduct,  102;  and  conduct,  their 
CO- variation,  103;  at  once  inborn 
and  not  inborn  in  the  child,  106;  its 
late  development  a  sign  of  its  im- 
portance, 107;  the  problem  of  its 
origin  in  the  child  involved  in  the 
problem  of  the  rise  of  agency,  107 ; 


as  developed  out  of  obedience,  119 ; 
is  obedience  alone  competent  to 
build  it  up  ?  120 ;  as  developed  out 
of  imitation,  120;  help  in  develop- 
ing it  of  games  involving  moral 
situations,  123;  importance  for  its 
development  both  of  good  example 
and  of  wholesome  compulsion,  123; 
the  effect  of  temperament  on,  124; 
affected  both  by  nature  and  by 
nurture,  125 ;  reason  for  its  sche- 
matic character,  126  ;  its  code  and 
its  ideal  elements,  128;  the  unpro- 
gressive,  the  radical,  and  the  pro- 
gressive types,  129;  its  authority, 
130  ;  as  compared  with  other  human 
faculties,  130;  as  the  voice  of  his 
tribe  in  the  individual,  131 ;  as  stand- 
ing for  relatively  settled  social  con- 
clusions, 131;  as  tending  to  foster 
the  common  good,  132;  as  internal 
sanction,  133;  direct  observation  of 
birth  of,  in  the  race  impossible,  137 ; 
how  to  solve  the  problem,  137; 
present  in  all  normal  men  and 
absent  in  all  animals,  138,  164 ;  and 
public  opinion,  their  interplay,  165, 
167;  the  insight  and  the  instinct- 
custom  elements  in,  166;  the,  of 
groups,  the  development  of,  168; 
and  voluntary  actions,  their  inter- 
play determines  the  fortunes  of 
groups,  168;  no  such  thing  as  the 
development  of  in  the  race,  169; 
public,  but  another  name  for  public 
opinion,  168;  the  function  of,  174, 
177,  180,  182;  its  correspondent  in 
animals  does  not  directly  favour  in- 
dividual welfare,  178;  birth  and 
growth  of  in  the  race,  summary 
statement  regarding,  183 ;  its  func- 
tion and  its  end  distinguished,  188; 
trustworthy  and  untrustworthy  ele- 
ments distinguished,  198;  the  trust- 
worthiness of  its  instinct-custom 
element,  199-200. 
Consciences,  the  first  to  appear  in  the 
race  all  belong  to  the  same  type,  168 ; 
their  lines  of  development  different, 
169 ;  group,  serve  their  own  develop- 
ment only  if  they  serve  social 
vitality,  174 ;  stagnant,  prevent 
progress,  170 ;  radical,  prevent  prog- 
ress, 171;  perverted,  prevent  prog- 
ress, 173;    tend  to  emphasize  indi< 


INDEX 


Tidaal  welfare  rather  than  social 
vitality,  181;  normative,  188;  teleo- 
logical,  189. 

Conscientious  action,  genuinely  even 
when  imperfectly  moral,  50 ;  express 
approval  of  action  not  necessary  for, 
61 ;  is  not  only  action  performed  in 
opposition  to  desire,  51. 

Conscientious  judgment  compared 
with  moral  judgment,  85. 

Consequences  of  actions,  unforeseen, 
responsibility  for,  30;  foreseeable, 
responsibility  for,  31. 

Cooley,  336. 

Courage,  206;  its  three  conceptions, 
206;  definition  of,  206;  physical, 
208;  in  animals,  208;  in  primitive 
men,  209;  the  source  out  of  which 
other  virtues  develop,  211;  military, 
the  earliest  form,  211 ;  as  self-pos- 
session, 212;  its  development,  213; 
subjectively  moral,  217 ;  as  a  virtue, 
218;  summary  of  discussion  of,  219. 

Courageous  men  always  admired,  but 
often  disapproved,  216. 

Courtship,  250. 

Crimes  aroused  only  the  spirit  of 
vengeance  among  primitive  peoples, 
279. 

Criminal  procedure,  the  litigious  and 
the  inquisitorial  systems,  361 ; 
greater  justice  of  the  litigious  sys- 
tem, 365. 

Criminals,  moral  feeling  towards,  27S- 
284 ;  those  who  are  and  those  who 
are  not  blameworthy,  283;  injured 
by  society,  367 ;  convicted ,  just  treat- 
ment of,  368;  reformation  of,  3<50; 
not  to  the  interest  of  some  to  be 
moral,  423. 

Critique  of  Pure  Reason,  142. 


Darwin,  xi,  104, 145, 146, 155. 

Decifiion,  as  a  part  of  wisdom,  376. 

Deductive  method  in  Ethics,  17. 

Definition  in  Ethics,  6. 

Description  in  Ethics,  6. 

Desert,  as  ground  for  special  service, 
299. 

Deterrence,  278,  280,  368. 

Development  of  the  child,  the  projeo- 
tive  stage,  109 ;  the  subjective  stage, 
111 :  the  ejective  stage,  112. 

Dewey,  J.,  65,  85, 300. 


Dicey,  A.  V.,  342. 

Disinterestedness.    See  Interest. 

Disposition.    See  Temperament. 

Divorce,  257,  258,  260. 

Duty,  actions  for  sake  of,  imperfectly 
moral,  51 ;  actions  for  sake  of,  not 
only  moral  actions,  51;  compared 
with  right,  83 ;  as  practical  morality, 
415 ;  a  man  can  do  more  than,  415. 

Duties  of  benefaction,  as  based 
on  agreement,  347;  arising  from 
promises,  357 ;  arising  from  personal 
relations,  358;  arising  from  mar- 
riage, 359. 

Dynamic  law,  the,  Psychology's  law  of 
causation,  56. 


Earliest  man,  account  of,  134. 

Education,  moral,  46. 

Effort,  the  role  of,  59, 61 ;  as  the  fnnda. 
mental  difference  between  man  and 
other  animals,  144;  as  having  its 
physiological  seat  in  the  parts 
brought  into  play  in  maintaining 
erectness,  146, 

Egoist,  man  the  only,  IfiS. 

Elsenhaus,  55. 

Emotions,  their  influence  in  voluntary 
actions,  60. 

Enmity,  private,  becomes  a  judicial 
question  with  appearance  of  criminal 
courts,  285. 

End,  ultimate,  the  wisest  and  most 
reasonable,  193 ;  the  prudential  and 
the  moral  compared,  38.'i;  the  ulti- 
mate, incapable  of  full  des(*riptioii, 
403;  criminals  and  incompetents 
prevent  the  welfare  of  all  from  be- 
ing the  ultimate,  401. 

E^nds,  no  one  among  them  aooepted 
by  all  consciences,  192. 

Ethical  investigators,  compared  with 
preachers,  8. 

Ethical  science,  the  function  of,  275. 

Ethical  theory,  based  on  moral  iunight, 
47. 

Ethical  writers,  not  their  function  to 
pass  moral  judgment,  7;  not  their 
function  to  exhort  men  to  be  moral, 
7;  not  necessarily  moral,  381. 

Ethics,  theories  of,  founded  on  Intro- 
spection alone,  vii ;  theories  of, 
founded  on  obserration  of  physical 
facts,  vii ;  explanation  In,  6 ;  deserip* 


430 


INDEX 


tion  in,  6;  definition  in,  6;  "as  a 
normative  science,"  meaning  of,  6; 
"  as  a  teleological  science,"  meaning 
of,  8;  need  for  method  in,  9;  tlie 
scope  of,  need  for  understanding,  9 ; 
the  vast  subject-matter  of,  10;  the 
scope  of,  10;  complicated  tasls  of, 
11 ;  difficulty  of,  compared  with  dif- 
ficulty of  Geology  and  of  Philology, 
13 ;  is  the  problem  of  within  human 
powers?  13;  uses  the  methods  of 
other  sciences,  14;  draws  on  other 
sciences,  14;  the  methods  of,  14; 
relies  greatly  on  method  of  induc- 
tive approximations,  16;  deductive 
method  in,  17. 

Eudemonism  and  perfectionism  the 
two  main  theories  of  the  end,  190; 
historically  considered,  190. 

Eudemonism,  396.  See  End  and  Wel- 
fare. 

Evolutionists  in  Ethics,  their  con- 
clusions based  on  moral  intuition, 
47 ;  a  fallacious  argument  of,  194. 

Explanation  in  Ethics,  6. 

F 

Family,  the  interest  in,  71.  See  Mo- 
nogamy and  Marriage. 

Faure,  F.  F.,  406. 

Fidelity,  marital,  247,  259. 

Fletcher,  Thomas,  xii. 

Free  performance.   See  Responsibility. 

Friendly  feeling,  280;  broadening  of, 
with  human  advancement,  287; 
among  animals,  287;  as  loyalty  to 
organizations,  291. 

Friendship,  its  moral  quality,  295. 

Function,  the,  of  conscience,  174, 177, 
180,  182. 

G 

Games,  helpfulness  of  those  involving 
moral  situations  in  developing  con- 
science, 123. 

Geology,  difficulty  of,  compared  with 
difficulty  of  Ethics,  13. 

Gresture  sign,  observation  of  a,  made 
by  a  terrier,  139. 

Giddings,  F.  H.,  135,  154,  228,  291. 

Grod,  the  allwise  and  benevolent,  as  the 
only  embodiment  of  genuine  moral- 
ity, 127. 

Golden  rule,  the,  96. 

Good  and  right  compared,  83. 


Gratitude  and  pity,  their  moral  qual- 
ity, 296. 
Grotius,  270,  319. 


Happiness,  the,  theory,  391 ;  as  epicu- 
reanism, 391 ;  distinguished  from 
welfare,  397 ;  not  the  proper  transla- 
tion of  tvSaifiovia,  397. 

Heard,  Miss  Mary,  xii. 

Hedonism,  quantitative,  384;  non- 
quantitative,  390;  as  the  happiness 
theory,  or  epicureanism,  391.  See 
Pleasure. 

Hegel,  70,  360. 

Hobbes,  319. 

Hodgson,  S.  H.,  125. 

Holmes,  O.  W.,  Jr.,  315. 

Hope,  faith,  and  charity,  203. 

Hostility  to  domestic  enemies,  278. 

Hostility  to  foreign  enemies,  general 
idea  of,  268;  among  savages,  268; 
among  barbarians,  269;  among  the 
civilized,  270;  and  international 
law,  270,  274;  description  of  as  a 
benevolent  feeling,  276. 

Hostility  to  private  enemies,  284.  See 
Enmity. 

Houston,  D.  F.,  xii. 

Howard,  John,  280. 

Howison,  G.  H.    See  Dedication. 

Hubbard,  Miss  A.  P.  F.,  xii. 

Huchard  and  Axenfeld,  24. 

Humour.    See  Temperament. 

Hunter,  Roman  Law,  315. 


Ideal,  defined,  schematic  character  of, 
compared  to  French  laws,  86;  the 
moral  described,  89. 

Ideals,  as  ideas  of  agents,  their  organic 
character,  the  loose  type  of,  88;  the 
rigid  type  of,  89. 

Imitation,  persistent,  explained,  111; 
as  source  of  conscience,  120. 

Indian  Draft  Code,  331. 

Injustice,  no,  when  injury  is  by  leave 
or  under  license,  333 ;  none  incident 
to  prudent  and  judicious  exercise  of 
common  rights,  334;  of  mental  in- 
juries, 336;  of  physical  violence, 
335. 

Inquisitorial,  the,  system  of  criminal 
procedure,  362. 


INDEX 


431 


Intent  and  insight,  dependence  of 
morality  on,  43,  45. 

Intention,  responsibility  for,  30. 

Interest,  in  self,  60;  in  other  persons, 
the  nature  of,  66 ;  in  other  persons, 
not  indirect  interest  in  self,  66;  in 
quasi-persons,  68;  in  family,  71;  in 
persons  a  by-product  of  human  evo- 
lution, 178. 

Interests,  human,  a  general  view  of, 
65. 

International  law,  its  two  purposes, 
272;  the  distinction  of,  between  just 
and  unjust  wars,  273. 

Intuition,  moral,  not  always  forth- 
coming, 44;  moral,  errors  in,  45; 
moral,  the  first  word  in  every  ethi- 
cal theory  said  by,  49. 

Intuitionism,  perceptional,  41 ;  its 
plausibility,  42 ;  dogmatic,  42 ;  phil- 
osophical, 42;  perceptional,  criti- 
cism of,  44 ;  perceptional,  the  truth 
in,  46. 


James,  William,  56,  82, 104, 105. 

Japan,  its  war  with  China,  289. 

Judges,  their  impartiality,  308. 

Judgment,  as  the  difference  between 
men  and  other  animals,  140. 

Judicial  action  not  weak  action,  285. 

Just  treatment  of  convicted  criminals, 
368. 

Justice,  its  relation  to  wisdom,  204; 
discussion  of,  based  on  description 
of  just  and  unjust  conduct,  302;  no 
solitary  thinker  can  form  adequate 
idea  of,  303;  angelic,  .^03;  systems 
of,  obtaining  among  European  na- 
tions the  most  trustworthy  embodi- 
ments of,  304;  legal,  as  the  best 
basis  for  the  description  of  moral 
justice,  305;  the  services  of  trained 
advocates  to,  307 ;  relations  of  legal 
and  moral,  summary  statement,  .'t24 ; 
the  use  to  be  made  of  the  law  in 
determining  moral  justice,  325 ;  gen- 
eral idea  of,  :)27 ;  injury  to  others 
may  not  be  inconsistent  with,  329; 
the  limits  it  imposes  on  self-defence 
and  defence  of  others,  331 ;  to  the 
unjust,  361;  and  charity,  370;  sum- 
mary of  chapter  on,  371.  See 
Rights,  Wrongs,  and  Injustice. 

Justinian,  the  English,  321. 


Kant,  xi,  8,  51,  62,  78,  142,  190,  217, 

218,  360. 
King's  peace,  the,  279;  highway,  the, 

279. 
Kropotkin,  154. 
Ku  Klux  Klan,  293. 

L 

Lange,  104. 

Law,  the,  is  made  for  man  and  not 
man  for  the  law,  12i);  largely  judge- 
made,  306;  deals  with  overt  acts, 
309;  of  contract,  in  early  times  did 
not  exist,  317 ;  of  tort,  in  early  times 
very  rudimentary,  317;  and  charity, 
.323. 

Leadership,  politico-military  and  reli- 
gious, 161. 

Legal  justice,  the  limitations  of,  321 ; 
and  charity,  323. 

Legal  rules  of  action,  merely,  311. 

Let  justice  be  done  though  the  heavens 
fall,  129. 

Lewes,  G.  H.,  398. 

Liability,  for  wrongful  acts  and  de- 
faults of  servants,  312 ;  for  safe  con- 
dition of  buildings,  312. 

Liberty,  the  right  to,  3:17. 

Love  the  fulfilment  of  law,  63, 81,  203. 

M 

Mackenzie,  J.  S.,  65. 

Man  alone  an  egoist,  1.55.    See  Men. 

Manage  de  raiaon,  253. 

Marriage,  forms  of,  240;  inefficiency 
of  non-monogamous  forms  of,  246; 
fidelity  as  essential  to,  217,  259; 
regulations  governing  the  unmar- 
ried, 248;  chastity,  248;  congenial- 
ity, 249;  mixed  social  gatherings, 
249;  courtship,  2.V);  in  Anglo-Saxon 
and  in  Latin  nations,  251, 2M  ;  suita- 
bility, 2.')2  ;  mariuge  de  raiaon,  253; 
romantic  love,  2M ;  regulations  gov- 
erning the  married,  25(>;  divorce, 
257,  2.58;  duties  arising  from,  399. 
See  Monogamy. 

Martineau,  J.,  55. 

Men.  differences  between  them  and 
other  animals,  138;  mental  differ- 
ence.s,  i:i8;  general  ideas  not  dis- 
tincti%'e  of  man,  I.IM;  speech,  136; 
judgment,  140;  self-consciousneM, 
141 ;   voluntary  action,  142  ;  effort, 


432 


INDEX 


144 ;  physical  differences,  145 ;  erect- 
ness  and  the  seat  of  effort,  146.  See 
Man. 

Metaphysical  Ethics,  relation  of  this 
book  to,  ix. 

Method,  need  for  in  Ethics,  9;  utility 
of,  10 ;  of  inductive  approximations 
in  Ethics,  16. 

Methods  of  Ethics,  14. 

Middle  axioms,  42,  202. 

Mind,  change  of,  and  change  of  nature 
compared,  4. 

Mivart,  St.  G.,  139. 

Monogamy,  the  highest  form  of  mari- 
tal relation,  244;  description  of,  247. 
See  Marriage. 

Moral,  predicates,  imperative  com- 
mands, 4 ;  judgments,  the  passing  of, 
not  the  function  of  ethical  vpriters, 
7 ;  and  non-moral  phenomena,  two 
means  of  distinguishing,  18;  phe- 
nomena, men  as,  19;  phenomena, 
what  part  of  them  voluntary  actions 
are,  29;  and  non-moral  compared 
with  moral  and  immoral,  37 ;  educa- 
tion, 46 ;  insight,  founded  on  moral 
perception,  48;  nature,  a  strong,  de- 
scribed, 78;  conceptions  and  cate- 
gories, compared,  82;  judgment  and 
reason,  described,  85;  judgment, 
compared  with  conscientious  judg- 
ment, 85;  emotions,  their  unique- 
ness dependent  on  the  uniqueness  of 
conduct,  104;  agent,  the  birth  of, 
118;  actions,  when  imperfectly  un- 
derstood, thought  of  as  the  actions 
of  wiser  and  more  competent  moral 
agents,  127 ;  justice,  outside  the  law, 
314;  ethical  writers  are  not  neces- 
sarily, 381;  the,  and  the  prudential 
end,  383. 

Morality,  different  in  different  classes, 
10;  primitive,  interest  of  Ethics  in, 
11;  discovery  of  its  nature,  com- 
pared with  discovery  of  nature  of 
Englishmen,  12 ;  discovery  of  princi- 
ples of,  similar  to  discovery  of  prin- 
ciples of  politicians  or  of  political 
parties,  16 ;  subjective,  its  value,  50 ; 
subjective,  definition  of,  54;  objec- 
tive, definition  of,  55;  objective,  its 
constitution,  187 ;  objective,  its  cri- 
teria, 197 ;  what  it  is,  413 ;  objective, 
brief  characterization,  414;  practi- 
cal, and  duty,  415;    why  enforce, 


418;  meaning  of  this  question,  418; 
why  it  ought  to  be  enforced  a  foolish 
question,  418 ;  the,  of  their  fellows, 
interest  of  men  in,  419;  his  own,  in- 
terest of  each  man  in,  420;  their 
own,  not  to  the  interest  of  some 
criminals,  423. 

Morally  prescribed  actions,  do  they 
coincide  with  legally  prescribed  ac- 
tions? 310. 

Mohammed,  203. 

Mohammedanism,  287. 

Mood.     See  Temperament. 

Motive,  responsibility  for,  30 ;  descrip- 
tion of,  30. 

Motor,  every  state  of  consciousness  is, 
56. 

Muirhead,  James,  315. 

Muirhead,  J.  H.,  84,  92,  319,  320. 

N 

Nature  and  nurture  both  affect  con- 
science, 125. 

Nietzsche,  Fr.,  424. 

Non-moral  phenomena,  the  bulk  of, 
18 ;  the  deficient  in  intellect  and  the 
weak  in  will  are,  20;  phenomena, 
emotional  and  intellectual  states 
and  fixed  habits  are,  25 ;  phenomena, 
some  voluntary  actions  are,  28. 

Normative  and  descriptive  sciences,  1 ; 
sciences,  the  difficulty  in,  2;  sci- 
ences, causes  of  confusion  in,  3. 

O 

Obedience  as  source  of  conscience,  119. 

Obligation,  compared  with  right,  83; 
rise"  of  sense  of,  103.  See  Responsi- 
bility. 

Oliphant,  J.,  248,  250. 

On  its  merits,  judging  each  case,  129. 

Organizations,  their  personification, 
70. 

Oriental  and  Occidental  temperaments 
compared,  116. 

Ortolan,  J.,  315. 


Palmer,  G.  H.,  xi. 

Patriotism,  358. 

Paul,  Saint,  203. 

Perfectionism,  prudential  and  moral, 

393 ;  at  once  a  doctrine  of  duty  and 

a  doctrine  of  the  end,  417. 
Persistent  imitation,  explained,  111. 


INDEX 


438 


Personification,  the  nataralness  of,  68 ; 
of  organizations,  70. 

Persons,  their  fascinating  incalcola- 
bility  interests  child,  110.  iSee  Inter- 
est and  Quasi-persons. 

Pharisees,  129. 

Philology,  difficnlty  of,  compared  with 
diflQculty  of  Ethics,  13. 

Pity,  its  moral  quality,  296. 

Plato,  202. 

Pleasure,  as  enjoyment  of  experience 
and  as  pleasant  experience,  384 ; 
the  biggest  pleasant  experience  not 
always  preferred,  quality  and  the 
temperament  and  habits  of  the  agent 
being  influential  facts,  385-386 ;  ad- 
mission of  quality  need  not  involve 
a  circular  argument,  387;  not  so 
valuable  to  an  agent  as  his  charac- 
ter, 389;  and  happiness,  391;  like 
the  bloom  of  youth  according  to 
Aristotle,  401.    See  Hedonism. 

Political  parties,  292. 

Politicians,  discovery  of  their  princi- 
ples similar  to  discovery  of  princi- 
ples of  morality,  16. 

Pollock,  Sir  F.,  309,  313,  335,  336. 

Pollock  and  Maitland,  315. 

Preachers,  compared  with  ethical  in- 
vestigators, 8. 

Principles  of  morality,  their  discovery 
similar  to  discovery  of  principles  of 
politicians  or  political  parties,  16. 

Prison  reform,  380. 

Promises,  the  duties  arising  from,  357. 

Property,  the  right  to,  340. 

Protection  of  society,  368 ;  against 
criminals,  278,  283. 

Public  opinion,  the  opposite  of  mob 
impulse,  159;  and  conscience,  their 
interplay,  165,  167 ;  but  another 
name  for  public  conscience,  168. 


Qnasi-persons,  Interest  in,  68.  See 
Interest. 

R 

Reasonableness,  as  an  element  of  wis- 
dom, 377. 

Reformation,  of  criminals,  278,  283, 
309 ;  of  society,  3<)9. 

Religion,  the  rise  of,  152. 

Religious  leadership,  and  politico- 
military,  161. 

Remorse,  one  of  the  lesser  moral  emo- 
2f 


tions,  81 ;  erroneous  identification  of, 
with  conscience,  90. 

Reparation,  the  duty  of,  what,  314. 

Respect  for  calling  or  work,  101. 

Resolution,  as  an  element  of  wisdom, 
377. 

Responsibility,  diminished  by  weak- 
ness of  will,  20, 23;  diminished  when 
inner  forces  oppose  will,  20;  of  hys- 
terics, 23 ;  of  epileptics,  24 ;  complete 
when  action  is  consented  to  with  full 
foresight,  24 ;  as  measured  by  blame, 
the  right  of  enforcing  reformation 
and  reparation,  and  of  protecting 
society,  30;  for  motive,  30;  for  in- 
tention, 30;  for  unforeseen  conse- 
quences, 30;  for  foreseeable  conse- 
quences, 31 ;  for  immediate  and 
direct  consequences,  31 ;  for  remote 
consequences,  31 ;  for  blameworthy 
and  for  unblameworthy  injury,  33, 
35;  as  a  mood  and  as  an  emotion, 
76 ;  obligation  and  free  performance, 
their  interrelations,  77 ;  they  embody 
the  naked  power  of  conscience,  78 ; 
rise  of  sense  of,  163 ;  with  and  with- 
out blame,  283. 

Ribot,Th.,  22,  24,62. 

Right,  compared  with  duty  and  obli- 
gation, 83;  compared  with  good, 83; 
to  property,  ^0;  to  personal  prop- 
erty, 340;  to  enjoyment  of  relations 
with  other  persons,  341 ;  to  reputa- 
tion, 341 ;  to  freedom  from  misinfor- 
mation, 34.3. 

Rights  in  general,  330. 

Romanes,  J.  G.,  139. 

Romantic  love,  254. 

Royce,  J.,  62, 113,  143. 


Sagacity,  as  an  element  of  wisdom,  375. 

Science,  the  conclusions  of,  their  trust- 
worthiness, 379. 

Self,  the  bodily,  lU  Influence  over 
action,  62;  the  bodily,  compared  to 
the  body  of  the  people,  63;  the 
social,  117.  ^e  Selves,  Agent,  and 
Agency. 

Self-conscionsness,  as  the  difference 
between  men  and  other  animals,  141. 

Self-defence,  and  defence  of  others, 
their  just  liniiUtions,  Xil. 

Self-interest,  66;  not  merely  interest 
in  pleasare,  66. 


434 


INDEX 


Self-respect,  description  of,  98;  two 
senses  of,  100. 

Selves,  the  aggressive  and  the  submis- 
sive, 114. 

SidgVFick,  H.,  xi,  42,  190,  335,  336,  338, 
344,  353,  357. 

Simonds,  F.  W.,  xii. 

Society,  good,  described,  93 ;  it  injures 
criminals,  367;  reformation  of,  369. 

Socrates,  82. 

Sourdat,  on  torts,  335,  336. 

Speech,  as  the  difference  between  men 
and  other  animals,  139. 

Spencer,  H.,  "laws  of  life  and  con- 
ditions of  existence,"  17. 

State,  the,  as  distinguished  from  the 
government,  292. 

States,  their  increase  in  size  normally 
followed  by  advance  in  civilization 
and  well-being,  290. 

Stephen,  L.,  96,  211,  213,  216,  232, 
234. 

Stephen,  Sir  J.  F.,  361,  365,  367. 

Supernatural  powers,  sense  of,  peculiar 
to  man,  152. 

Sutherland,  A.,  288. 


Table,  of  consequences  of  voluntary 
action,  and  of  responsibility  for  the 
consequences,  30;  showing  size  of 
independent  societies,  and  of  towns 
and  cities  as  men  advance  from 
savagery  to  civilization,  288 ;  of  com- 
ponents of  individual  welfare,  400 ; 
of  components  of  national  welfare, 
407. 

Tastes,  no  disputing  about,  2. 

Taylor,  Isaac,  135. 

Temperament,  disposition,  humour, 
mood,  their  influence  over  action 
and  relation  to  the  bodily  self,  62; 
its  effect  on  conscience,  124. 

Temperance,  not  merely  regulation  of 
drink  appetite,  221 ;  chief  rule  of, 
condemns  loss  of  self-control,  241 ; 
the  rule  of  the  golden  mean,  242; 
method  of  investigating,  243 ;  sexual, 
monogamy  its  highest  form,  264;  in 
general,  described,  264.  iSee  Appe- 
tites. 

Temperate  eating,  261;  intemperate 
eating  the  exception,  261. 

Temperate  drinking,  262;  directions 
of  possible  improvement,  263. 


Terrier,  observation  of  a  gesture  sign 

made  by,  139. 
Thinking,  being,  only  man  a,  150 ;  and 

thinking  to  a  purpose    the   same, 

150. 
Tool-making,  only  man  can  compass, 

151. 
Towns,  their  increase  in  size,  table, 

288. 
Townes,  J.  C,  xii,  341. 
True  statements,  sometimes  wrongs, 

342. 

U 
Unselfishness,  a  by-product  of  human 

evolution,  178.    See  Interest. 


Vengeance,  278,  279,  282,  285,  367. 

Venn,  J.,  56. 

Vitality,  social,  analysis  of,  174.  See 
Welfare. 

Volition,  effects  of  its  rise,  149;  effects 
of  its  rise  on  the  individual,  150-151 ; 
social  dangers  due  to  its  rise,  155; 
social  counterchecks  on,  157;  its 
instinctive  opponents,  158 ;  intelli- 
gent control  of,  159;  control  by 
public  opinion,  159 ;  control  by  social 
leaders,  161 ;  control  by  conscience, 
163.    See  Action. 

Voluntary  action,  not  independent  of 
its  agent,  and  transient,  35,  36;  as 
psychic  cause  of  conscience,  91;  as 
the  difference  between  men  and 
other  animals,  142 ;  and  conscience, 
their  interplay  determines  the  for- 
tunes of  social  groups,  168.  See 
Will. 

Voluntary  actions,  some  are  non-moral 
phenomena,  28;  ill-defined,  29; 
many  decided  by  caprice,  93;  many 
decided  by  preference,  94;  many 
prudential,  94.    See  Will. 

W 

Wallace,  A.  R.,  155. 

Ward  politician,  his  moral  insight 
limited,  49. 

Weakness  of  will  diminishes  responsi- 
bility, 20. 

Wealth,  never  an  evil,  401. 

Welfare,  individual,  fostered  by  con- 
science in  proportion  to  its  develop- 
ment, 177;  social,  the  function  of 
conscience   to  promote,  180;    indi- 


INDEX 


435 


yidnal,  consciences  tend  to  empha- 
size it  rather  than  social  vitality, 
181;  human  and  sentient,  the  ulti- 
mate function  of  conscience  to 
foster,  182 ;  the,  of  all  sentient  be- 
ings, the  supreme  or  ultimate  moral 
end,  195 ;  individual,  what  it  consists 
of,  396;  distinguished  from  happi- 
ness, 397 ;  the  proper  translation  of 
cvdaifiofta,  397;  individual,  Aris- 
totle's account  of,  398;  its  sources, 
399;  individual,  table  of  components 
of,  400;  national,  403;  national  a 
component  of  human, 403;  national, 
table  of  components  of,  407 ;  human 
and  sentient,  account  of,  408. 

Wharton,  American  Criminal  Law, 
345. 

White  Caps,  293. 

Will,  its  weakness  diminishes  responsi- 
bility, 20;  effective,  essential  to 
progress,  170.    iSee  Actions,  Agents, 


Agency,  Volition,  and  Voluntary 
action. 

Will-power,  phrases  descriptive  of, 
they  suggest  the  bodily  parts  brought 
into  play  in  maintaining  erectness 
as  the  physiological  seat  of  volitional 
effort,  147. 

Wisdom,  its  relation  to  justice,  204; 
the  general  nature  of,  375;  as  in- 
cluding broadmindedness  and  sagac- 
ity, 375;  and  caution  and  decision, 
376  ;  and  firmness  and  reasonable- 
ness, 377 ;  is  greater  than  has  before 
existed,  378;  as  including  learning, 
375,  379;  and  reliance  on  experts, 
380;  includes  knowledge  of  means 
and  ends,  381. 

Wise  man,  the,  a  fiction,  374. 

Wrong  of  misrepresentation,  343,  355. 

Wrongs,  are  true  statements  ever? 
342 ;  public,  345.    See  Rights. 

Wundt,  W.,  65. 


THE  ELEMENTS  OF  SOaOLOGY 

A  Text-Book  for  Colleges 
and   Schools 


BV 

FRANKLIN  HENRY  GIDDINGS,  M.A. 
Professor  of  Sociology  in  Columbia  Uni-versiiy 

i2mo.    Cloth.    $i.io,  net 


New  York  Times: 

"  Of  its  extreme  interest,  its  suggestiveness,  its  helpfulness  to  a  reader 
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clination for  special  study,  we  can  bear  sincere  and  grateful  testimony." 

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and  untechnical  though  scientific  in  plan.  It  has  been  especially  pre> 
pared  for  the  use  of  colleges  and  schools,  and  is  clear,  comprehensive, 
and  scholarly.  It  follows  the  development  of  society  intelligently  and 
impressively  from  the  beginnings  to  its  present  stage,  and  interprets  the 
significance  of  history,  pointing  out  the  conditions  which  are  to  be 
sought  if  the  future  is  to  be  what  it  should  be.  It  deserves  hearty 
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"  Professor  Giddings  impresses  the  reader  equally  by  his  indepen- 
dence of  judgment  and  by  his  thorough  mastery  of  every  subject  that 
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THE    MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

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THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  SOCIOLOGY. 

AN  ANALYSIS   OF   THE   PHENOMENA    OF  ASSOCIATION  AND  OP 
SOCIAL   ORGANIZATION. 

By  FRANKLIN   HENRY  GIDDING5,  M.A., 

Profeisor  of  Sociology  in  Columbia  University,  in  the  City  of  New  York' 
(COLUMBIA  UNIVERSITY   PRESS.) 

8vo.     Cloth.     $3.00,  net. 


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